


Oath of Silver

by i_shall_wear_midnight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Blood and Wine (The Witcher 3 DLC), Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Inspired by The Witcher, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, The Witcher Novels - Andrzej Sapkowski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_shall_wear_midnight/pseuds/i_shall_wear_midnight
Summary: Fleur hires a witcher and then decides to keep her.(added short bonus scene mentioned in end notes)
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 74
Kudos: 389





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of notes, sorry:
> 
> I pulled information from the novels, the Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, and a bit from the pen and paper tabletop RPG (mostly creature sizes and bounty values). I borrowed the glimpse of the dance Yen does with King Virfuril in Aedirn from the tv show, but that was it from there. I just went about putting two characters I liked in a universe I enjoyed, so I’ve parsed the lore from both series according to what suited my enjoyment in writing the story, and what seemed to make sense for these ladies. I can’t really write these two without a least a little dorky-derpy-ness, so it’s not quite so grimdark-all-the-time-terrible as the Witcher world typically suggests. *shrugs* Some maps vary or have errors, and I have selected the Ortelius map 2.0 (and others designed off of it) that seems most accurate.  
> I’ve mostly ignored Nilfgaard’s third invasion from the Wild Hunt because I didn’t really want to deal with it, so altercations have mostly stopped according to the situation at the end of ‘Lady of the Lake.’ Toussaint is characteristically French-ish, so that’s why Fleur still speaks the language and I’ve implied that it’s one spoken in the duchy. Beauxbatons is a magical academy in Toussaint because why not, and I wanted more institutions to exist other than only Aretuza and Ban Ard.
> 
> Fleur’s horse is based on the Camargue breed from Southern France, which I’d decided after consulting an equestrian friend. She also has the same bow Milva does, because Milva is awesome. Her abilities are roughly modeled after a Pathfinder hybrid class, which I may expand on in other stories in this crossover world. The Delacour estate is basically Corvo Bianco, but with a larger home and placed in a different spot relative to Beauclair, and Gabrielle has been aged up. Villentretenmerth has a cameo. ☺
> 
> Unsurprisingly, I am not an expert in European-medieval sword combat. I did a bit of research and tried to stick with actual terms and maneuvers, bearing in mind Hermione’s size and the sort of fighting style I could infer from the HP books. That said, this story is not about the fighting anyhow, so do forgive any errors. The sword fighting in the novels is a bit silly as well, i.e., carrying a sword on your back, or the ‘pirouette’ move (used in a fencing context), silver as viable metal for bladed weapons…so let’s all just have fun with this, yes?  
> A nice visual for Hermione’s weapons (the image with the pair of swords):  
> https://kaermorhenforge.com/en/portfolio/advanced-griffin-steel-witcher-sword/
> 
> Time spent traveling! A little arbitrary thanks to Sapkowski himself, I didn’t log miles because that would be tedious and likely only frustrating. Also, I decided Kaer y Seren hasn’t been destroyed because I might use it later, and the druids can stay in Caed Dhu. Hermione’s tailored outfit influenced a bit by what Emily Kaldwin wears in Dishonored 2. I just had to include Pierre-Auguste Moustacherois from the side quest in the Blood & Wine expansion because cat, and also French painter reference. Look up ‘Hamilton the Hipster cat’ on instagram to see what he looks like.
> 
> A nod and poke at Harmonic_Wisp, because I realized I’d referred to Hermione as Fleur’s personal heater, so go read her lovely story “Heated Charms” if you have not. Thanks to SkyKnight07 for horse name suggestions, I stole one and hopefully you are amused. Also thanks very much to LostParkMih for allowing me to whine at her for having attempted such a project, and for her input in various events of the story, and being her usual awesome self. We also wrote a Fleurmione story together if anyone would like to check that out. And Lazze for prompting this, if you hate it, I am very sorry; it was Pierre-Auguste’s fault.

Hermione wiped the blood off of her blade with a rag. Drowners weren’t the best source of income, but they were easy to find and were typically plaguing fishing towns. Sometimes it was mindless work, since the water monsters were astonishingly stupid, and she just needed to remain alert to avoid being swarmed. For the better part of the day she’d been stalking up and down the riverside cutting down the fish-finned humanoids. It was generally a good idea to have necrophage oil in supply for her silver sword when she was passing through Temeria. She was surreptitiously gathering decoction ingredients from the slain beasts, since many of the villagers watched on the nearby escarpment as she went about her business.

There were a few groups of ghouls she’d taken care of for the busy graveyard keepers of the larger villages, and fortunately had been travelling thus far with no incidents, beyond the usual, anyway. At least she and Crookshanks could eat for the next week or so. She generally stuck to a route each season on the Path where she knew she wouldn’t get stoned or run out of town, and even had a few contacts. Though maybe soon she could do something new and sail to the islands of Skellige for a while. It didn’t take long for her to clear the area, and she collected her measly 40 crowns with a sigh of the world-weary, and told the gawking villagers who remained to burn the corpses over her shoulder.

She trudged up the embankment, whistled for her horse, and Crookshanks came trotting over. She had earned him from a forktail contract a few years ago, and he’d remained her loyal steed since (though she knew he was certainly ornery with strangers). The farm the monster had terrorized had suffered the loss of some livestock, but had offered the horse in lieu of crowns they didn’t really have. He nudged her side, and she patted the chestnut gently across his head.

“We have food again tonight Crooks,” and he neighed cheerfully (he also served as her constant conversational partner, since witchers tended to work alone). She hopped onto the saddle, and directed them back to the town at a leisurely canter, thinking she’d have to figure out their next destination over dinner.

*********

The inn was well lit and awash with more chatter than it had been in the last few days, likely due to her assistance with the drowners, and even despite the fact that “a freak of nature,” as it were, was still in their presence. Crookshanks had been stabled, groomed and fed, and Hermione’s supper, a mutton stew, was not as bad as she had feared. There was a mediocre bard strumming his lute in one corner, alternately telling tales to anyone who’d toss him an oren (apparently even the peasants knew he wasn’t worth a crown). There was a brief interruption in the background susurrus of conversations, when a striking blonde woman entered and strode right in directly towards the inn keep, but Hermione only marked her arrival and went back to her food and Kaedweni stout.

Eventually, a brave peasant walked over to her table, offering a refill on her beer and holding up a Gwent deck. Hermione could tell he had approached her at least in part by a dare, judging by the crowd of village boys lurking at another table, attempting to slyly observe the exchange. They were nudging and whispering amongst themselves, before the town’s blacksmith swatted them upon the head with his cap. The brunette let out a little laugh, and gestured for the young man to sit. Hermione ended up crushing the lad in several rounds, but felt bad and ended up refusing to take his crowns. He stood up from the table on shaky legs and with wide eyes, thanked her for the games, and scampered away.

The witcher figured that would be the end of her human interactions for the evening, but only a few minutes later, the stunning newcomer from before appeared before her. Upon closer inspection, Hermione couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t be conspicuous in any group of people she happened to find herself immersed in. The woman was looking back at her with vivid sapphire eyes, and silvery blonde hair that shimmered even in torchlight. Her attire was travel-ready, but elegant.

“Bonsoir. You are a witcher, oui? Or perhaps a ‘witcheress’ is more accurate? I am not familiar with all the terms…” She watched the beautiful stranger patiently while she fumbled through Hermione’s professional title. _As if the distinctive, amber colored cat-eyes hadn’t given her away_ , the brunette mused wryly. Eventually, the blonde gave up and sat herself down at Hermione’s table, her medallion twitching faintly as the stranger got settled. Hermione filed that away for later. Her new dinner buddy seemed to be oblivious to the curious and concerned looks now being thrown _her_ way at boldly taking a seat at a mutant’s table.

“I came from Ellander,” she began in a non sequitur. “The temple, and spoke to the priestess Nenneke, who told me about you.” Hermione continued eating her second serving of stew and waited for her to get to the point. “I would like to hire you as an escort as I travel back to Toussaint.” The witcher finally put her spoon down.

“Sounds like you ought to be asking some mercenaries to be your bodyguards,” she responded, eyeing the bow the woman was carrying on her pack meaningfully.

“A pair seems doable, and I’d prefer you.”

“I’m not a bodyguard.”

“Yes, technically, I am aware,” she replied, beginning to show signs of impatience.

“Then why are you soliciting a monster-slayer?”

“Because we are in region called _Velen_ , ‘Lady Witcher.’ Also known as ‘No Man’s Land.’ Where swathes of Nilfgaard’s army have passed, and fighting is still sporadic, _and_ someone you know put in a good word for you,” She finally declared bluntly, since the other woman apparently insisted on being deliberately obtuse. Hermione could feel the blonde’s eyes roving over her face and scars while she looked back down to her bowl and continued eating, leaving her potential new employer hanging several minutes more.

“I will give you 500 crowns. I know the peasants only paid you 40 for the fish-creatures.”

“Drowners,” Hermione corrected automatically. Another beat passed. “All right, I suppose I can help you out, seeing as I have no other obligations for the moment,” she finally answered.

“I’m beginning to suspect you witchers’ poor reputation stems more from simply possessing a cantankerous aura, rather than spreading the plague or stealing children,” Fleur remarked, somewhat distastefully. She arched a brow and wondered if she’d made a mistake.

“Oh no, the stealing of children is certainly true,” Hermione deadpanned. Funny how Fleur was _just_ considering the plausibility of having followed the wrong advice…she truly had no response to that, so she brushed it aside, and decided in for an oren, in for a crown.

“I would like to leave just after dawn.”

“That’s fine.”

“And my name is Fleur Delacour.” It certainly struck the brunette as a name appropriate to that frivolous duchy where she was now headed.

“Hermione, though I suppose Nenneke already told you that.”

“She did. She did not however, do justice to the description of how cranky you are capable of being.” The brunette had to crack a smile at that, Nenneke seemed have an absurdly high tolerance for Hermione’s antics, especially because the priestess was often burdened with patching up her wounds, and the witcher was a terrible patient. Somehow, Hermione still had permission to plunder the temple’s library when she was about, though Nenneke did give her the occasional odd job. The witcher snapped herself out of her reverie, and returned her attention to the woman who had officially requisitioned her services for the foreseeable future. People rarely interacted with Hermione in any sort of civil manner, and the audacious candor of the gorgeous woman made her want to needle her a little. She was certain Fleur had very little trouble getting anything she wanted. Maybe it was childish, but Hermione was rather often purported to be an emotionless killing machine only interested in slaughtering monsters and money, so she had to amuse herself where she could.

“I will see you in the morning, Madame Delacour,” she said with a rakish smirk.

*********

There were few settlements in Temeria untouched by the war, either by Nilfgaard’s armies rampaging through, or Northern coalition forces passing by and exhausting various resources. The province of Velen was poor to begin with, and many homes and buildings they overtook at the journey’s start the next morning had been burned. Others were gutted, so all that remained was merely a thatch roof held upon a few broken supports, or some simply slanting over, collapsing onto one side. And best of the all, the hung bodies of various soldiers dangling from trees or posts, deliberately placed along the roads.

Needless to say, the sights were rather depressing, but Hermione reckoned the least she could do was linger in the area and rid its people of any monsters exacerbating the desolation. Even while being cursed at, half the time. Fleur drew a lot of gazes from people they passed, tenaciously working their fields, but a pointed glare from Hermione sent their attention elsewhere.

“I will need to make a stop,” Fleur announced after they had been traveling in silence for some time. Hermione frowned. She was still a little irked that Crookshanks had ostensibly taken a liking to Fleur while they were preparing and saddling their mounts that morning. He had happily accepted the ear and head rub she had bestowed after introducing herself, even before she had tempted him with an apple!

Fleur’s horse meanwhile, was a fine-looking animal, resembling its mistress quite well. It was a Camargue mare from Toussaint, a hardy breed with a large amount of agility and stamina. She had an abundant, silky, and elegant mane, and bright eyes like Fleur’s, which observed Hermione almost knowingly when they’d entered the stable together. Her color was mostly grey, but this appeared to be giving way to an iridescent white coat. It amused Hermione a little that with ample sunlight, Fleur and her horse would have hair that was equally dazzling. She supposed that went well with the animal’s name, Éclair. Lightning, pastry? Both? A mere sweet roll probably wasn’t sophisticated enough for Fleur. So probably both. Hermione _also_ found that amusing, a little silly, and rather endearing besides. But she was not around to get charmed by beautiful Fleur Delacour and her beautiful horse!

“There were no stops mentioned yesterday,” she responded eventually.

“Yes well, I told you I was at the Temple of Melitele in Ellander. I had something to do, which I did, and now I have some messages to deliver on the way back. Anyway, it is fairly close to our final destination.”

“Fine. If rest stops are now sanctioned, then I will be visiting a friend briefly.”

“Friend? Witchers have friends?” Fleur asked a little too incredulously. Hermione scoffed.

“Yes, witchers can have friends. Don’t sound so surprised,” she said rather testily.

“Well, how would I know? Yesterday evening you were very much…” and here she adopted an exaggerated tone of voice that Hermione assumed was supposed to be an approximation of her disinterested drawl last night: “Grrr…I’m a tough, jaded witcher. I steal babies at night and only drink the blood of my enemies!”

Hermione felt her jaw drop indignantly. “First of all, that is _not_ what I said, nor how I sound!”

Fleur had to work to smother her laugh, so she interrupted the oncoming rant to ask, “So how does one become a witcher?”

“Well, we don’t exactly have people lining up at a fortress with applications!”

“Then how did _you_ become a witcher?” There was a lengthy pause.

“My parents died when I was five or six. I don’t know. My extended family did not wish to be hampered with another small child, so off to Kaer y Seren I went.”

“Where were you from?” Fleur asked more earnestly.

“The north.” She frowned a little at the curt answer.

“And where did you train?”

“The north.” The blonde sighed in exasperation.

“Sorry, can’t tell you. Extremely confidential witcher secret,” Hermione proclaimed a little roguishly, and Fleur rolled her eyes. “And anyway, you haven’t exactly divulged much about yourself either. But I can tell you must have something of the supernatural in you.”

“Oui. I am part veela,” Fleur replied, after some hesitation. “Perhaps you might have read something of us during your more…academic witcher studies?”

“A little bit,” Hermione conceded. “I know your people are secretive. Or perhaps ‘private,’ is a more tactful word,” the brunette amended, considering the state of affairs on the Continent for non-humans. “You share a common ancestor with the dryads,” she offered.

“Oui. In a broad sense; we are both excellent archers, healers, and forests are our homes and domain. At least for my family, we are lucky that Toussaint is often in its own little world, and that veela are adept at hiding in plain sight.” Hermione nodded at that, and then said, “I did observe some veela visiting Brokilon while I was there once.” This caused Fleur to raise an eyebrow and look over at her companion.

“Oh? You were allowed into Brokilon, and you yet live,” She asked with interest.

“I suppose I have somewhat of a loose association with the dryads. I suspect I would have been left there, just before the boundaries as marked by the arrow-laden bodies, if the witchers hadn’t taken me. I was told Queen Eithné saw it in a vision, but she wouldn’t declare as much openly,” Hermione explained. Fleur made a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement, now seemingly musing over what she had learned about the witcher. As if by unspoken agreement, Hermione nudged Crookshanks into increasing his pace, and they silently focused on their journey for some time.

*********

“So you have never been to Toussaint? Not even to visit Beauclair?”

“I have not, too expensive. Also full of pompous, obsequious knights-errant, all puffed up with a sense of the so-called _noblesse oblige_ , but ultimately hardly worth one’s attention. I’d look like a grungy barbarian next to them, despite being twice as competent.”

“Oh-ho!” Fleur laughed, amused at the sudden defensiveness. “I will not contest the point about how we are inundated with oh-so-noble knights. Perhaps we shall get you into one of our famous grand tournaments, and you can show them properly how things are done.”

“No thanks. Even knighted, I suspect I’d be pushing the tolerance of even the most diplomatic courtier,” Hermione wrinkled her nose, and cringed at the thought of so much ceremony and spectacle involved in such a competition.

“Mmm, you might be surprised,” she remarked, giving Hermione a suggestive once-over. “Let’s hope that when we finally arrive in the province, and even in Beauclair itself, I can change your mind about a few things.”

*********

It was time for a break. The horses needed to be watered and fed, and ideally they’d find an inn relatively soon for the night. Hermione and Fleur had entered the town proper with little fanfare, though as the two women dismounted and walked closer to the tavern, the witcher began detecting a rather conspicuous air of hostility from its residents. It culminated when they approached the inn keep.

“That one ain’t welcome here,” he grunted, pretending to wipe down his counter.

“Excuse me?” Fleur asked coolly.

“The mutant. The vile abomination standing next to you. The viper-eyed hell raiser, weevil-arsed freak. That clear enough for you?” Fleur was looking rather furious herself at the end of his litany of names. 

“She’s with me, I hired her,” The blonde growled through gritted teeth.

“Don’t give a fuck, pretty lady,” the inn keep declared, shaking his head as if she’d asserted something simply impossible. By now, they’d attracted more than the stares of the other patrons, and several burly, daft looking thugs had stood and moved closer to the inn keep.

“This is absurd, I have the coin if that’s what you’re worried about. You can’t discriminate-”

“Absolutely can, it’s my fucking bar. And ain’t no one gonna wanna drink with that thing around.”

“Fleur, it’s fine, I’ll go wait out by the gates,” Hermione interrupted.

“It is _not_ fine!”

“Look, this will go one of two ways,” Hermione hissed, angling her head at the loitering numskulls, spoiling for a fight. “I cut them all down and this ends up ten times worse, or I meet you outside the town borders quietly. Just get whatever provisions you can, I’m used to it.” Without waiting for Fleur to agree, Hermione stalked out of the bar before she had to hurt someone.

*********

Hermione let Crookshanks graze on the grass outside the town borders as she waited for Fleur’s return. She petted him here and there, speaking to him as she usually did, and it didn’t take long for the brunette to spot the blonde approaching. Her expression was still stormy, so the witcher tried to lighten the mood with a casual conversation topic as Fleur divided up the victuals and set them aside to be loaded into their saddlebags.

“So it’s nice to know that fancy bow isn’t just for display,” she commented, trying to tease the blonde a little, and referencing their conversation earlier in the day.

“What if they’d known I was veela?” She said abruptly. Hermione blinked.

“They’d likely have no idea what that meant.” Fleur just stared back her, frowning. “But just the same, I’d make sure none of them even breathed funny in your direction, if it came down to fisticuffs or worse.” She surprised herself with how vehemently she made the affirmation, and how much she didn’t want Fleur to be upset.

“I thought witchers claimed neutrality,” Fleur replied bitterly, and the brunette sighed. Her tone had gotten hard as she began to speak again.

“Yeah. And sometimes you just happen upon some run-of-the-mill evil, the sort of brazen injustice, and blatant unfairness kind of bullshit that even the strictest adherent to whatever code would have trouble ignoring. So if you think you won’t be able to live with yourself, then you go deal with it like a professional.” And that was that. Hermione had moved over to start putting away the supplies Fleur had procured and separated, and once again, they rode quietly onward.

*********

They began to speak more as the days of travelling slipped past, at first to overlook the bleakness of the Temerian landscape and battlefields, but also warming more to each other’s company. Hermione began to respond more amenably, grateful that no major conflict had happened upon them thus far, and Fleur was able to draw more smiles from the only-sometimes-stern witcher.

Eventually they realized that they had more in common than initially suspected. Fleur learned that Hermione loved to read, and had an arrangement with a fellow in Novigrad who ran a shop in busy Hierarch Square, for borrowing and delivering rare tomes to him. And then this led the blonde to slyly entice a story out of Hermione about acquiring her library privileges in Ellander that had her in stitches.

Not that the veela herself was one to really rely on stereotypes, but it was nice to see that the witcher was more than the heartless mercenary superstition painted her as, whether it was magical creatures she was dealing with or humans. Hermione was of course, less brusque in conversation when she was less on guard. Fleur was able to further soften her up by describing the spectacular library her father had established on their estate, explaining that he was an avid scholar. 

*********

It turned out rather convenient, when the two women were just thinking of stopping to rest again, that Hermione revealed they were close to the friend she had mentioned. Fleur was rather curious, but only responded with a nonchalant “Oh?”

“Yes. He’s established a sort of…circuit of clinics for the area. He studied at Ban Ard, with an emphasis in herbology, and returned here to help with the myriad wounded that only multiplied thanks to the wars. He managed to wrangle quite a few apprentices, though they usually stay in a given place while he frequently runs around, for emergencies and complicated cases.”

“Ban Ard, hm?” Fleur remarked archly, with a measure of disdain Hermione was _just_ able to detect.

“I thought their rivalry was directed towards Aretuza, the girls’ academy. Are you associated with that school?” the brunette asked curiously.

“Oui that is true, and Aretuza does tend to trounce those boys consistently in exam scores. However, I myself have been training at Beauxbatons in Toussaint.”

“Well fancy that, an arcane-archer,” the witcher replied, sounding a little impressed.

“More like archer slash occasional sorceress,” Fleur corrected, seeming, for the first time in their acquaintance, rather modest. “I learned the bow and the healing arts from the veela, and when in Toussaint, I studied magics. I suppose I might be considered the most belated student at the academy, but I did not want to settle for one or the other.”

“No,” Hermione agreed, smiling faintly, while looking over at the blonde woman. “I don’t reckon you’d yield your ambitions at the whim of some administrator’s schedule.”

“Learning about the veela and immersing myself in their culture has resulted in my becoming a sort of emissary, so I ended up alternating my duties, rather than completing one or the other first. I am pleased with my choices,” she declared resolutely. Hermione chuckled.

“I am glad for you.”

They reached the path leading up to a sizable wooden building, the caduceus emblem engraved on a hanging sign. The secured their horses in the area intended for such, and Hermione walked up to the door, knocking twice before pushing it open.

A harried apprentice looked up from her work at her two new, very distinctive visitors.

“Greetings travelers. How can this house of healing be of service?” A dark-haired, stocky looking young man entered the main reception area from another room, and seemed to recognize Hermione.

“Ah Claer, I can deal with our guests, you can continue what you were doing.” He walked over and gave Hermione a stilted handshake, and nodded politely to Fleur.

“Hello Frederick. This is Fleur; I am accompanying her back to Toussaint. I just wanted to stop by for some ingredients and to say hello to Neville while I’m in the area.” 

“Of course. He’s checking in on some patients, but should be back in thirty minutes or so. He can apprise you more of his schedule then,” The apprentice replied tautly.

“Thank you, we’ll wait out by the garden, then.”

*********

“How do you know he’ll be present at this particular clinic?” Fleur asked as they went back outside to wait, where they could also speak freely. They sat next to each other on the wooden fence bordering the herb garden.

“I have a standard route I take while on the Path starting each spring. It’s not always _exactly_ the same, but Neville is aware of where and when I wander. He somehow didn’t run screaming after our first meeting, and we’ve helped each other out over the years, so he ultimately became a friend, one of a very few. I’ll see him maybe once or twice a year,” Hermione admitted, shrugging. Fleur wanted to reply with something reassuring, but had no idea what to say.

So instead, she drew her bow from its sling to allow Hermione to examine it. It was a composite recurve reflex bow, and the brunette could surely appreciate its craftsmanship.

“It certainly looks exquisitely and intricately constructed.” The brunette held it carefully in her hands, and felt her medallion vibrate. “Veela magic?” She asked, turning to look at Fleur.

“Oui, you can feel it then?”

“It’s like I’ve placed my hands in running water. I feel its flow and eddies.”

“So has your witcher training included the bow?” Fleur had seen Hermione carry a hand crossbow, but hadn’t yet witnessed her utilizing it. Of course, this weapon was not quite the same thing, but Fleur was interested just the same.

“I can shoot one adequately, but I am not particularly skilled. Usually the hand crossbow is sufficient, since we usually need to maintain our mobility and remain quick on our feet,” she explained.

“Then try it now and indulge me,” Fleur said, with an imploring glance at the witcher. Hermione rolled her eyes, but responded, “as the lady commands.” Fleur handed her a few arrows, and the brunette got into position, setting up her first shot at a nearby tree. The arrow flew passably at its target, colliding with the bark audibly, in a manner Hermione had described truthfully. Fleur laughed merrily, causing Hermione to give her A Look over her shoulder.

“Okay, a couple of things,” Fleur said with a smile, moving over to Hermione and making adjustments. The brunette continued to oblige her, allowing the blonde into her personal space to move her limbs and body about as she desired. Hermione considered herself more or less of average height; though Fleur was a little bit taller, which was all the more apparent now that she had placed herself flush against Hermione’s body, explaining something about gripping the bow.

There were few people who had gotten away with being this close to her; for at minimum a friendly hug, and at most romantic reasons, and astonishingly Fleur had achieved this position for herself alarmingly quickly. And Hermione wasn’t especially bothered. Why wasn’t she bothered? It was lucky that she had acquired a long-term client she didn’t want to strangle, and moreover, for whom she’d experience a growing fondness, but ultimately she would complete her enterprise in accompanying Fleur to her home and that would be that. As she had essentially _just_ expressed to Fleur, no sane person was looking to have a witcher as a lasting acquaintance, let alone a _friend_. If someone _did_ , that someone absolutely needed to find a new place to live as soon as possible.

Consequently, Hermione had a handful of contacts who got something out of their association, and thus far encountered only two (2) friendly exceptions, so she shouldn’t expect to eventually place Fleur in this category at all.

…And yet.

*********

Fleur had to admit to herself that Neville seemed like a perfectly capable, sweet, and earnest young man. He had come back from his errand, secured his horse, and greeted Hermione with a pleased smile and light hug. Hermione had introduced the veela, and then the healer had led them back to his private office and workspace. He had obliged her presence with a few small talk type questions, but for the most part, she’d been quietly watching the two catch up. The herbalist eventually prepared some tea for his guests, seeming to grow a little nervous.

“So Hermione,” Neville looked at her rather sheepishly. “Could you do me a favor?” The brunette gazed back at him, her demeanor resigned.

“Certainly, Neville.”

“I’ll make it worth your while!” He promised avidly, sensing her hesitation. “And I’ll happily give you a few extra components for your potions.”

“All right, all right, what is it?” The brunette said with a smile, holding up her palms.

“There’s a field nearby that’s been razed and torched due to the fighting. Sometimes the battles have ended where neither side wins, and they do not return to collect their dead. The peasants have taken to looting some of the bodies, but there are ghouls coming around, and I’ve ended up treating more of the people desperate enough to try find anything valuable down there, and it’s been hard to make my regular rounds.” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“In that case, then you’ll be giving me the supplies that you’d otherwise use to heal those more in need?”

“No no, I promise I’ve got plenty of stock. It’s just time I’ve been running out of. You clearing out a band of them will help at least for some time,” he assured her. Hermione gave him a crooked grin, standing up.

“Ah well. I suppose it’s just going to be necrophages as the order of the day. You’re also allowing us to bunk here for the night, by the way. And I may want to tinker with some of your alchemy glassware.” Neville grinned back at her, unconcerned at the requests.

“Of course, no problem, and we have no in-house patients for the moment.”

“All right, we’ll I’d better get to it. Where should I be heading to find this field?” Neville told her, and the witcher turned to Fleur to ask what she wanted to do.

“I suppose I’ll simply tag along and watch you ply your trade. And bring some healing items in case you manage to hurt yourself,” Fleur said with a bit of a smirk.

Hermione simply rolled her eyes.

*********

Fleur and Hermione had ridden their horses to the battlefield, the blonde just present to keep the witcher company, even when the brunette warned her about the smell. She told the witcher she could wrap a scarf around her nose and mouth, and perhaps employ a little magic to allay the issue.

Hermione scanned the area, deciding to progress on foot. The ghouls likely emerged from the cover of nearby trees, the bodies closest to the edges of the combat zone ravaged first. There were broken flagpoles, strips of fabric from both sides fluttering in the wind, the wreckage of carts and dead horses strewn liberally across the field. Though some items and bodies had been burned, a good portion of the field consisted of muddy sludge and puddles of bloodied water.

Hermione drew the sword she had swapped out with the blade she typically carried on her back. Fleur had noticed the elegant pommel on this particular weapon, the two sculpted griffin heads facing opposite directions poised regally. Even observing from a safe distance, the blonde could see how much more reflective this sword was, its edges glinting with an almost cold and frosty luminescence. The colorful runes engraved flared occasionally, and added an ethereal element to the weapon, as if to emphasize its purpose in smiting evil.

A pack of three monsters showed themselves, snarling at the brunette for blocking access to their food sources. Fleur watched with attentiveness as Hermione darted to and fro, slashing and gesturing at the monsters. The odd hand movements generated a variety of magical effects, and the veela supposed these must be the witcher’s so-called Signs. The ghouls were undeniably hideous, a conglomeration built from humanoid faces, gruesomely warped flesh, long claws on their forefeet, ambling about on four limbs like any feral beast. Hermione had told her that most peasants believed them to be re-animated dead, but the brunette assured her they were foreign supernatural creatures just like all others she hunted. Fleur had thought to herself that it didn’t matter whether the creatures were officially undead or otherworldly monsters, they simply needed to be eliminated.

The ghouls circled and leapt at the witcher like a pack of mutated wolves, screeching and growling with unearthly noises. It was a macabre dance for Hermione indeed, shuffling along a grisly battleground, laden with bloody and mutilated bodies, against creatures that fed off such chaos, literally. The witcher was able to stun them frequently, inflicting bleeding wounds that seemed to spur them into frenzy, before she cut them down permanently. By the end of Hermione’s assignment, which included three more packs of ghouls, Fleur couldn’t imagine how many fields existed like this one all over the northern kingdoms.

*********

Neville had provided a generous breakfast, as another thanks for freeing up some of his time, and he’d also agreed to mail a letter for Fleur to her younger sister. The travelers left his clinic in a good mood, even with the overcast weather and threat of rain. Hermione had made arrangements to write and see him again before her hunting season was over, and she had gotten her pick of some rare herbs to stash away. She had also taken the opportunity to utilize his lab, and synthesized a few alchemical substances to formulate potions and decoctions as needed. 

They’d had a several hours of uneventful journeying, when Hermione suddenly perked up in her saddle as they continued down the road. The witcher could tell there was a bit of shouting in the distance, but hadn’t heard the clash of weapons yet. Fleur noticed her sudden shift into vigilance, and similarly placed herself on alert. Once they crested the next hill, they spotted what looked like a small family with a dilapidated wagon being accosted by men who were undoubtedly bandits.

As they moved closer on horseback, Hermione surmised that the men looked like deserters, adorned in a haphazard mix of various armors and gear, no doubt salvaged from various battlefields.

“Are…we getting involved?” Fleur asked cautiously, as she watched Hermione take in the scene. She was acutely aware of one of their previous conversations, and was reminded again that witchers generally professed neutrality, and did not partake in conflicts that did not directly affect them. As she observed the brunette’s expression furrow, Fleur was certain she wasn’t about to start lecturing Hermione on which tenets of the witcher code she should abide, and when.

The bandit-deserters had ushered the family off to the side of the road, where their sad looking horse and jury-rigged wagon remained waiting. With a good stretch of the road muddy and rutted, it had probably been easy to overtake the slow-moving wagon trundling along. Hermione honestly didn’t think they had much in the way of valuables, but by now she had realized they were elves, and supposed that was a good enough reason as any to be harassed.

The marauders had noticed their approach, as Fleur and Hermione had not attempted to move closer stealthily, and there was no cover on the thoroughfare anyway. Hermione dismounted, Crookshanks trotting away a safe distance, knowing their routine. She had four opponents; one was still astride his horse, dawdling, half-watching the proceedings while holding a loaded crossbow and looking a little bored. Two were standing on the ground, lurking behind the apparent leader wielding a mace, who was attempting to look as menacing as possible. He’d been waving his weapon in their faces, demanding who-knew-what.

The brunette drew her sword with a hiss, moving towards the outlaws with a fluid walk. They glanced up at her, now that she was heading directly towards them. There was a moment of bemusement where they couldn’t decide if Hermione was an idiot with a death wish, or some idealistic do-gooder thinking she’d sweep in and save the day. The family scurried over to huddle by their wagon, while the crazy sword lady strolling over had seized the bandits’ attention.

The witcher decided she would temporarily incapacitate the three others who had conveniently grouped themselves together, and dispatch mace-thug first. She paused just close enough, and formed the Aard sign at the clustered brigands. A burst of telekinetic energy besieged them, staggering all, especially the horse, which bucked wildly. She was ready for the mace-thug’s retaliatory charge at her, his arms swinging down heavily, and intent on knocking the slender witcher off of her feet. She easily read his movements and sidestepped, cleaving his arms off at the elbow. He toppled to the ground with a scream and stream of blood.

Crossbow bandit regained semi-control of the agitated horse, enough to hastily aim and shoot his weapon at the brunette, who deflected the bolt with a loud metallic twang, sending it zooming sideways. He gaped at the swordswoman, sputtering.

“She…just swatted it out of mid air -!”

The other two raiders nearby she’d hit with Aard had flung themselves away from the rearing horse, and now finally lurched upright, recognizing that their best chance was to flank Hermione and attack her together. Before they could position themselves, she launched herself swiftly at the nearest one, feinted, and swung downward in a slash from shoulder to hip. He pitched backward in shock, his sword dropping from his hand as he peered down at the sudden gash.

Hermione put some distance between them, brandishing her bloodied weapon, and glared back at the remaining enemy, who was beginning to question his life choices, especially now that those distinctive eyes were trained upon him. As she stared him down, from her peripheral vision, she noted the crossbow bandit was felled with a sudden arrow through the neck, and Hermione was internally gratified that Fleur finally decided on a moment to act. The last brigand went for broke rushed at Hermione. Perhaps he’d been more levelheaded when faced with ordinary Nilfgaardians, but his incipient panic made him unpredictable, and it was starting to annoy the brunette.

She parried a few of his clumsiest hits, and moved defensively until his frantic strikes wore him down. Finally, she deflected the blade flying towards her temple, made a swift feint, and attacked. The body crumpled to the ground, its head rolling away grotesquely into the brush. It was a rather brutal end, but Hermione only dispassionately flicked the blood off of her blade and sheathed it.

She quickly looted the bodies, then strode over to the bandits’ in-all-likelihood-previously-stolen horses, and hitched two of the healthier beasts to the elven family’s wagon. She handed them the gold she recovered wordlessly, as they stood, stunned and aghast at her display. Hermione expected no effusion of gratitude, but one of them uttered a quiet “Thank you, vatt’ghern.”

She nodded brusquely, and left them to it, calling Crookshanks to return to her. Before getting back on the saddle, she retrieved the arrow Fleur had launched at the thug wielding the crossbow. She handed it back to the blonde when Crookshanks trod over to where Fleur was waiting on her horse.

“They were probably just trying to get to Dol Blathanna,” Hermione said, in lieu of any explanation. Fleur nodded with a wan smile, as they turned their mounts to continue along the road.

“I am glad you helped them, even if only for a little while,” she replied wistfully.

*********

Now that they had finally breached Aedirn, the agricultural segment, full of ridges and hills, Hermione was expecting the rest of the journey to be relatively uneventful. Although Emperor Emhyr had returned the fertile valley of Dol Blathanna to the elves, (a fact which the Aedirnians would simply have to deal with, she opined) she was hopeful there would be no catastrophic pogroms for her to avoid, or stupidly get involved in, depending, because Toussaint was not too far away now. Fleur had mentioned that they would stop by the forest of Caed Dhu, close to Lyria and Rivia’s borders, where she would confer with some druids and veela, and then they could continue onward to the duchy.

Naturally, as was her luck, that hope had been dashed when they reached the next village. Its atmosphere struck her as odd immediately. They entered at a normal pace, feeling as though any superfluous noise would instantly disrupt the eerie stillness and induce a snowball effect of village-wide startled panic. Both Fleur and herself were looking around inquisitively, their perception giving the feeling that sunlight had a difficult time infusing the entire community. The layout was typical, and townsfolk were moving around going about their business, and Hermione could even hear the periodic clang of a hammer against metal somewhere in the vicinity. The people just seemed all together subdued, and there was very little chatter. It wasn’t until they reached roughly the mid-point of the town, that Hermione noticed something especially peculiar about the latter third of the settlement.

A strange fog seemed to cling to those buildings closest to the woods. She couldn’t see the silhouettes of any humans walking through, so it seemed as though that area had been evacuated. She frowned, and thought this would be one of the many questions she’d ask the ealdorman, (if there was one), or maybe she’d check the town notice board, but someone beat her to it.

“Oh, thank the gods! Mistress witcher!” Hermione looked over her shoulder to see an elder man in mud stained robes hobbling over. Some of the younger men of the town tried to pull him back, but the old man was spirited. In the end, the whole group moved over to where she and Fleur had paused.

“How may I help?” Hermione asked, dismounting and attempting to appear genial and non-threatening. Fleur had alighted from her horse as well, standing next to the witcher in solidarity. Most others who had been out and about were now outright staring, but only the older man’s group had ventured close enough to speak to her.

“I’m Finnolm, the ealdorman, and this is my son, Almer. We had one of them magic men come through a few days ago-”

“A wizard,” Almer interposed helpfully. Hermione could already tell this was going to be a long-winded story, glancing from the village leader to his tawny-haired, gangly looking son.

“He said he was heading up to Ban Ard,” the ealdorman continued. “He seemed mighty interested in the uh…” Almer was assisting his father in standing upright, and apparently filling in the blanks in his father’s retelling of the village’s woes.

“ _Supernatural circumstances_ with the problems we was having.”

“And what were these problems, exactly?” Hermione interrupted the two-man show.

“Some kind of devil in the woods. And it came with that fog you see thereabouts; it covered most of the village. Our people went into the forest to hunt and gather lumber, and they didn’t come back. We found a lone boot on the ground, some bloodstains, shredded pieces of fabric. After a while, we were too afeared to go looking. So I asked him if he could do something about the disappearances.”

Hermione interjected again to ask, “Did he identify himself as such? As a wizard?”

“Uh, no mi’ _ahem_ milady, he did not, not in those words precisely.” It was hard for him to look Hermione in the eye, and Fleur was almost too beautiful to gaze at for too long, so the old man had to settle for staring in between the women’s shoulders.

“But he agreed anyway and went into the woods to investigate,” the brunette prompted.

“Yes milady he did, but we didn’t force him none! The next day early, he left to go explore, came back just before dusk, said something about lots of crows about the trees.”

“And at this point the villagers had stopped entering the woodlands entirely?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, we just let the mage get on with it. He went back to carry on searching the next day, but we didn’t hear from him again. Some parts of that fog evaporated, here and in the forest, but not all, as you see now. So a few days later, some of our folk dared set foot in the forest again, and they was viciously attacked. We only got one of the boys come back, but he only caught a glimpse of some beast, and he’s broken an arm. Our healer has been tending to him.” Hermione let out a quiet sigh, contemplating the details briefly.

“All right. Well, I’d have to pick up the trail the mage left behind, see if I can find more clues, tracks, and that sort of thing first. It’ll be a little bit of an undertaking. Do you have the crowns to compensate me for this task?” She asked, trying to sound equitable.

“We can go around the village, gather from all of us folk here tired of living like this. I reckon maybe something around 1200 crowns, if you do the job as requested.” Hermione didn’t react to the quoted amount, though it was a good deal more than she had expected.

“I’ll get to the bottom of it. Now I’d like to speak to your herbalist, as well as the patient with the broken arm, and I’ll need someone to take me to the locations where items had been found.” Hermione had turned back to her gear, pulled her silver sword from its sling, and secured both of her swords along her back just in case. Usually she kept one strapped tightly to the saddlebags on Crookshanks, but the circumstances surrounding the village were a little more than unusual. And this was officially a contract now, after all.

The ealdorman called for some of the residents to attend to the women’s horses, and he and his son proceeded in the direction of the herbalist’s home. As they began walking, Hermione sent a beseeching glance at Fleur, hoping she’d understand and accept the delay. Fortunately, the veela only nodded and remained at her side. The peasants eventually knocked on the door of a well-kept house, and it opened to reveal a kind-faced middle-aged woman, with wavy brown hair and green eyes.

Her gaze landed on each of them in turn, her neighbors were given a quick look, Hermione a knowing glint, and on Fleur a curious glance. She bade them entrance, Finnolm naming her as Tomira, the resident healer, and quickly started an introduction to Hermione and Fleur. He stuttered awkwardly when he’d realized he had hired Hermione without formally knowing her name, nor that of her companion. The brunette quickly cut in, revealing their names, apologizing for the intrusion, and asking about the boy that had been injured who was the sole survivor of the last group of villagers to breach the forest.

The witcher asked her questions swiftly, learning that something large and winged fell upon their party, some of the men attempting to fight back, some scattering, but all eventually caught and slaughtered. The boy could only attribute his escape to his smaller size, and running immediately at the first screams. While frantically fleeing, he’d fallen on his arm and broken it. The boy looked down in shame the entire time he responded to Hermione’s inquiries. The brunette solemnly assured him that she’d find the creature that killed so many of their people, and end it. They left the boy to rest, and Tomira escorted the group back outside her home.

“I’m afraid with the town bein’ split up so, we’ve no room at the inn,” Finnolm announced, looking self-consciously from Hermione to Fleur.

“It’s not a problem for me,” the brunette said dismissively, already thinking about the issues at hand.

“I do have a spare bed. It’s typically for patients under round-the-clock care, but it’s clean,” Tomira offered tentatively.

“I’ve medical training,” Fleur spoke up. “I can earn my keep.” Tomira smiled and nodded, looking grateful.

“Well, then I would appreciate any help.”

“I may need to raid some of your inventory, once I discover what I’m dealing with,” Hermione said to the herbalist.

“Certainly, but I am running a bit low on a few things, since I haven’t been able to visit the woods to resupply.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Hermione said resolutely.

*********

After collecting all useful information available from the town, Hermione was handed a rudimentary map, which also displayed an incongruous clearing that her tour guide explained were elven ruins that the villagers tended to avoid. He informed her that they were not aware of the path the mage had forged on his own, and the brunette was taken on a circuit of the areas in the woods were evidence had been found. She then excused the obviously edgy lumberjack to return to the settlement, and initiated her investigation. The same cloying fog lingered sporadically as it had in parts of the town, but the witcher didn’t discern an overt aura of malevolence. She kept moving, senses on high alert. Like within the village, the animal activity also seemed restrained, but the environment wasn’t completely silent. Smaller birds still chirped, and her sensitive hearing picked up the rustling of burrowing creatures in the underbrush and brambles.

Once she reached the densest portion of the forest, she spotted some markings along several of the largest boulders protruding from the earth. She stopped and peered at them, noting the four long slashes etched into the rock, judging the creature strong as well as enraged. Also within the area were grooves carved into the ground, including the segments of the forest floor covered with grass, as if roots had risen and splintered the terrain. With the mention of the swarms of crows from the ealdorman’s tale, Hermione concluded that a leshen had claimed this forest as its home.

Perhaps the wizard or wizard’s student had managed to kill it, but hadn’t rid the area of its magic completely. She looked back at the furrows in the ground, and was able to pinpoint some large and thick three-toed markings, as well as some humanoid prints, but the majority of the tracks were a mess.

Perchance, she speculated, the mage and leshen vanquished one another. She was aware some magic users thought themselves sufficient to combat any monster, and sometimes they did wield the requisite arcane power. More frequently however, they lacked the specialized knowledge that generations of witchers had meticulously compiled and systematized, as well as the variety of weapons.

She continued traipsing through the area slowly, when finally she came upon a cluster of bone and wood, with a deer’s skull and horns, the remains of a leshen’s totem. This particular one had been destroyed, but it was likely there were a few more. They might vary just slightly from monster to monster, but at least they were large, and Hermione didn’t expect any trouble in locating the rest to incinerate. She took several more minutes carefully scanning the area, using Igni to torch three more totems. She waited, searching her surroundings, observing the fog sluggishly dissipate.

Except…something still felt wrong, the caw of crows suddenly rang out in the stillness, her skin seemed to tingle with anticipation, and her medallion started thrumming. She drew her sword just in time for a sinister and deep black smoke to undulate into view. _Well, shit. Looks like I was wrong about how exactly the mage and leshen faced off._ Ostensibly, the spellcaster had only done enough harm to force the monster to cease activity and regenerate, especially since a few of the totems had been left in the vicinity.

The smoke coalesced into the silhouette of a tall antlered beast, solidifying as it shambled forward in the dim light of the forest, and suddenly Hermione had to throw herself to the side as a torrent of sharp roots were unleashed at her. She pitched a bomb at the creature, igniting its wooden limbs, but sustaining several swipes from the roots the leshen controlled in the process. The creature itself moved haltingly, but its attacks exhibited quite the range. Hermione grunted in pain as she rolled away and scrambled to her feet.

The brunette immediately shoved herself forward, hacking at the monster wreathed in fire, interspersed with additional blasts of flame from Igni. The heat was blistering, but she had to press her advantage, not having prepared herself fully for such an encounter. After a few moments, it thrust its arms into the air, and vanished in a swirl of black smoke. The witcher used the monster’s temporary retreat to cast Quen, her body poised to make any evasive maneuvers. Seconds later, it materialized right behind her with a deep, reverberating roar and swinging wicked claws. Hermione once again speedily tumbled away, her magic shield shattering dazzlingly, and rising to her feet with plumes of Igni already streaming from her hand.

She attacked forcefully again, and with the second fiery assault, the leshen finally succumbed, collapsing inwardly with an echoing cry, the gnarled branches that remained disintegrating moments after. Hermione stood still and tense for a few minutes, reflecting on the fact that this fight had gone remarkably lucky, that the leshen had not been at full strength, and berating herself for not having a full kit on her person. She winced slightly as the existence of her wounds broke into her awareness; errant flames had licked at her cheeks and neck, the slashes from the leshen’s jagged roots. She was fortunate that she had been far too agile for them to trap her.

As tired as she was, and victorious, the realization struck that this one creature did not seem to hold responsibility for the deaths of the recent party that had risked return into the forest. The leshen had paused its reign of terror, and she had disrupted it by entering its domain and burning its totems. Hermione would simply have to continue her reconnaissance tomorrow. She picked up the skull of the leshen, broken antlers and all, and achingly made her way back to town.

********

The fog had cleared from the part of the village closest to the woods, so when Hermione finally surfaced bearing the head of the leshen, several people were there to greet her. The news of her return traveled quickly throughout the town, and she had amassed a great many stares from awed and frightened peasants, while still explaining to Finnolm what had transpired. Some were dismayed to learn that the problem had only been partially solved, while the visible evidence of progress heartened others. She had been describing that the so called “devil in the woods” was bipedal, could stand up to eight feet tall, and had magic of their own. The brunette was attempting to extricate herself from all the questions for a minute of peace, when Fleur pushed her way through the crowd and dragged her away. The blonde directed her over to Tomira’s home, and fortunately Finnolm had gotten the hint, and persuaded the throng to disperse for the evening.

Once inside the healer’s hut, Hermione was once again subjected to some stares, one significantly more irked than the other. Tomira quickly appraised her injuries, giving the witcher an encouraging smile, before excusing herself to gather the necessary items. Fleur was less immediately appeased, checking her face and neck, lifting an arm and inspecting the slashes, and poking at Hermione’s side until she was satisfied by her own examination.

“It’s really just the few burns and cuts, the brigandine held so only the fabric is torn on my side,” Hermione explained, hoping to calm the blonde. Tomira returned with supplies, nudging a stool over next to Hermione, and simply handing the items to Fleur then making herself scarce with another knowing smile.

Fleur remained silent as she sat down, wordlessly initiating the task of patching Hermione up. She gestured for Hermione to remove some of her armor so she could start with the gashes on her arm. Fleur stared off into space while she waited, for her mind was abuzz with all manner of thoughts and feelings. Worry that was only now abating, concern that Hermione’s safety had come to matter to her in a rather short amount of time, a general affection for the other woman that only seemed to magnify as their days together stretched on.

Hermione presented her now unobstructed wounds, and Fleur studiously applied the appropriate ointments and powders, winding a bandage around the toned arm securely. She then smoothed some of the burn salve onto the marks on Hermione’s neck, cheating a little and using a bit of magic to waterproof and keep the bandages in place. She gently turned the brunette’s head as she worked, avoiding her eyes. Fleur found herself stymied however, when moments later, she had moved on to the lesions on the witcher’s cheeks. Without her overt awareness, she realized her fingers were tracing the scars on the right side of Hermione’s face. As her fingertips traced the pattern tenderly, she recognized that what had seemed like one long mark were actually two lacerations, resulting in a rough sort of fish hook shape, sprawling from the corner of her eye, down her cheek, to the end of her jaw.

Her eyes shot over to Hermione’s, hoping she hadn’t breached a line, but the witcher only appeared calm and relaxed, her amber gaze watching her softly. Fleur quickly looked away, cheeks heating, and returned her attention to her original duty of treating and dressing the rest of the injuries.

“Thank you, Fleur,” Hermione said quietly, when the blonde had finally finished. Evidently still mute, Fleur only nodded graciously. The witcher gathered her things, bid the veela goodnight, and departed the house soundlessly.

*********

The next morning, Fleur was definitively no longer speechless. At breakfast, the blonde quizzed Hermione relentlessly about her plan to track and identify the other creature. The village had been mired with the worst luck by being assailed by two monsters within a short timespan. The brunette laid out a rough course of uncharted terrain she intended to scrutinize, and promised several times that she’d take more precautions while exploring. She assured Fleur that she’d scout more properly first, and return to prepare the appropriate potions, oil, and bombs. The veela leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, assessing the veracity of Hermione’s pledges.

It was another ten minutes before the witcher was allowed to resume her quest.

*********

True to her word, Hermione spent the majority of the day judiciously searching for trails and tracks, perpetually on her guard, carefully documenting her findings (mentally, anyway). Fleur had suggested she accompany her, and Hermione thought the ranged support might be useful, but Fleur wasn’t accustomed to fighting monsters, and Hermione didn’t want to put her at unnecessary risk. She’d sworn to come back to suitably equip herself anyway. 

After several hours, Hermione finally made some headway while reconnoitering the clearing the villagers shunned. It appeared as though the second creature, a basilisk, had made a lair out of the elven ruins, the entrance to its den conveniently marked by the idiosyncratic pointed-arched doorways that were so prevalent in elven architecture. What remained of the building was eventually superseded by the forest growth, but it could not quite engulf the large pieces strewn about in various angles entirely, and the wide, albeit clunky, clearing resulted. Structural pieces shifted over the years as the greenery expanded around and between the collapsed edifices, and ended up forming a nice hidey-hole from which the creature emerged to hunt.

When Hermione did make her promised return and delivered her report to Finnolm, she was once again faced with a stubborn veela. Fleur had seemingly requisitioned some silver-tipped arrows from the evening before, and was unyielding in assisting Hermione in this endeavor. What followed was the witcher contesting the matter with Fleur for several hours into the evening. She finally relented after extracting her own series of promises from the blonde, and upon recognizing that the veela would wear her out before any bloody monster could. Plus, she had some alchemy to perform.

*********

Lichen covered much of the stone comprising broken stairways, fractured pillars, large flat platforms and other components that littered the area, where Hermione intended to hide Fleur and keep her involvement to a minimum. She did not possess an extensive arsenal of silver-tipped arrows anyway, so the witcher was adamant she only pop up and fire while Hermione occupied most of the beast’s attention. Crookshanks was on standby a safe distance away.

The clearing granted the sunlight from the new day to blanket her next field of battle, and though Hermione was generally inured to harsh weather conditions, she happily took in a deep breath of the crisp, morning air. She reached for a bottle and chugged a decoction, then replaced the empty flask back on her belt. Her augmented abilities had now been further enhanced, her blade had been oiled, and there was nothing left to do but confront the beast. She casually tossed a grapeshot bomb into its den, rather belligerently taunting it out.

She could hear Fleur’s harsh intake of breath when they finally spotted how big the creature was. From claw to shoulder was about six and a half feet. Once it fully appeared from out of its den, it rose up on hind legs with a screech in a fearsome display of aggression, and Hermione would’ve guessed a wingspan of roughly thirty-nine feet. She hurriedly motioned to Fleur to find cover. She was immensely grateful she had properly scouted the scene and pinpointed several spots that were acceptable in concealing Fleur. As expected, the basilisk sprang up into the air, flying in a wide arc as it peered down at the witcher. Hermione knew it would dive down at her with those vicious talons, and her first order of business was to confine the monster to the ground.

It flew above somewhat casually, not being particularly alarmed with this little humanoid intruding upon its domain. Hermione dodged a few blasts of poison it spat out at her before it finally propelled itself down. Fleur tagged it with an arrow to the shoulder, startling the monster out of its dive and crash landing next to a primed witcher. She launched herself at it, aiming at the nearest wing, doing enough damage for the beast to reevaluate its new adversary, but not enough to ground it. After exchanging several blows with Hermione, it leapt to the sky again. It tried making a few sweeps from above at the brunette, which she managed to roll away from.

The third flyby the basilisk attempted, she succeeded to unbalance it with Aard, and it once again hurtled to the ground. Fleur peppered the wounded side with arrows, and Hermione lobbed a Dancing Star bomb at it, exploiting one of its weaknesses. Sometimes, one’s monster slaying motto was simply “kill it with fire.” The basilisk caterwauled with the rapid onslaught, injured wing instinctually lurching away from the direction of arrows, but the fire from the bomb lingered and the monster could only stagger every which way within the flames. The second landing had planted them closer to Fleur, and the flurry of arrows had paused while the monster thrashed. Hermione hoped the veela would take the moment to quickly position herself further away.

“Fleur, get farther back!” Hermione shouted, not having a chance to see if she’d been obeyed. The flames had subsided enough, and the witcher made a powerful downward slice at the drooping wing, causing the monster to arch up in pain with a shrill scream. …She just hadn’t really expected it use the same limb to strike back at her in retaliation. The witcher was swatted away like a toy, sailing through the air and falling backward, but she quickly tucked into a roll, nimbly getting back onto her feet. Fleur saw her go flying, and repaid the monster with another arrow. _She’s too close!_ Hermione wailed internally. It whirled back around to face the veela with a screech, bearing down. It swung a mighty clawed wing, and slashed Fleur along her side, sending her rolling out from cover into the open. _Fuck fuck fuckity fuck_. The blonde was boxed in with the irate beast. _If only Fleur hadn’t made that last shot_! The witcher raced back towards the monster, intent on making it turn towards her.

“Hey! Come at me, you ugly bastard!” She yelled nonsensically, anything to draw it away from Fleur. She hurled a grapeshot bomb, sending fiery shrapnel onto its wounded side and making it roar in agony. Behind the rearing basilisk, she could see Fleur army crawling towards the shelter of a fallen balcony braced by broken pillars. She needed to end this as soon as possible. The blonde had successfully scrambled her way under the protective fragments, and after shaking off the abrupt, sharp pain of the bomb; the creature realized its prey had scurried away. It shrieked again in rage, head swiveling around, looking for the missing veela. A sudden flare of light blazed right in front of the monster’s eyes, stunning it. Hermione had to smirk at that; Fleur must have managed to toss a blinding cantrip spitefully at the monster once she reached cover again. Hermione lunged and took the opportunity to slash furiously at its back, side stepping the burst of poison spray it desperately flung behind itself while its vision was still dazzled with spots. She further enraged it with more fire, trying to wrench it away from Fleur’s vicinity.

It seemed to detect at least her silhouette now, as it stalked purposely forward at the witcher, bird-like chitter-growls emitting from its sharp beak. She could tell it had become fatigued, but its pure wrath at such an impertinent enemy was fueling its movements. Fleur was bleeding and poisoned however, and Hermione had no more time to fuck around with this thing. She allowed it to creep closer to her a few more steps, and waited until it lowered its body to lunge at her. She threw Yrden down beneath it, the gleaming purple runes materializing and slowing its movements. Immediately she charged at the monster, and with all her might, thrust her blade up into the basilisk’s throat. It let out a pitiful gurgled croak, and Hermione withdrew her weapon as the monster crumpled heavily to the ground. She was covered in blood, but paid it no mind.

She wiped and sheathed her silver sword in a rush, and dashed towards Fleur’s hiding spot. She pulled her gently from concealment, and propped up the veela to assess the damage. The blonde was breathing shallowly, her side soaked in blood. She looked at Hermione with glazed eyes. At least there was a chance she might not notice how wild Hermione’s eyes and countenance had gotten both by fear for the veela and the effects of the decoction.

“You got it?” Fleur asked hoarsely.

“Dead,” The witcher confirmed, fumbling at a pouch on Fleur’s belt for an antitoxin. She administered it to the blonde, who swallowed it with a pained grimace. Next, she applied some clotting powder to the slashes, and bound the few bandages she had around the wound. Hermione looked back at Fleur’s face, thinking frantically. She suspected the generalized serum wouldn’t cut it in combating the effects of the basilisk poison. It wasn’t as if she could convince Oxenfurt Academy to fund extensive clinical studies on draconid venom. With her free hand, she tugged at her bandolier for the spare vial of Golden Oriole.

“Fleur, I only have a witcher potion for the basilisk’s poison. I do not think it would adversely affect you, but I cannot say for sure. Will you try a dose?” Hermione asked urgently.

The blonde nodded weakly. She let Fleur take a few sips, thankful that this was one witcher potion that did not have quite so esoteric ingredients. She was banking on Fleur’s veela heritage making her physiology more resilient, in case of any side effects. She whistled for Crookshanks and lifted Fleur carefully from the ground. Getting back onto her horse like this was going to be awkward. Hermione stepped up onto a raised block of elven stone, getting her level enough to swing her leg over the saddle with Fleur in her arms. She held the blonde upright firmly as if she were riding sidesaddle, and secured her own feet into the stirrups.

Fleur’s color seemed to be returning somewhat, so Hermione hoped fervently that the potion was working as it should, at least until she could commandeer the help of the village’s healer.

She charged into town noisily, guiding Crookshanks directly to Tomira’s home, and shouted for some peasants to get over there and give her some goddamn help.

*********

Fleur was situated on her bed, stitches implemented, painkillers administered, and Hermione was at a loss of what to do. The previous flurry of activity had abruptly ceased, and there was nothing more for her to do while Fleur slept. She kept vigil for some time, wanting to monitor the effects of the Golden Oriole, but Tomira insisted she could do that just fine, and gave the witcher a few odd jobs to complete.

She’d gone back to the woods acquiring additional supplies for the healer at record speed, salvaged alchemical ingredients from the corpse of the basilisk and returned with its head, as was customary. Finnolm and the other elders of the village had been apprised of the battle and its circumstances, finally satisfied that things appeared to be decisively looking up.

Crookshanks was primped and preened, back to keeping Éclair company, and Hermione made sure to give Fleur’s mare some attention as well. At least they could enjoy the break in travel. But now she found herself sitting on the floor by Fleur’s bed, conducting maintenance on her gear, and still incredibly restless.

She’d probably do a couple of patrols during the course of the night just to keep herself from screaming in frustration. She didn’t want to keep coming and going and risk disturbing Fleur’s rest however, but she both needed to move and keep the veela in her sights.

After growing tired of watching the agitated brunette wrestle with herself, Hermione learned that Tomira had studied under Nenneke at Ellander. The herbalist tried to distract the witcher by telling her stories about her time there, and asking the brunette about her adventures in dealing with the priestess in turn. Hermione eventually fell asleep sitting on the floor by Fleur’s bed, one sword propped up against her shoulder, the other laying next to her.

*********

The next morning, Hermione woke early, immediately propping herself up to peer at Fleur with wide eyes for the slightest change in her condition. Tomira tugged her away apologetically, but promised she’d continue to keep an eye on her throughout the day, and sent Hermione out to do something useful in town.

A good chunk of her time was spent hovering and babysitting the apprehensive villagers as they attempted to recommence their routines working, chopping, and gathering materials in the woods. She also “supervised” all the tenants moving back into their former domiciles. Hermione’s witcher duties were rounded out by sitting in each house for at least fifteen minutes (armed of course), while its previous occupants transported their few belongings back inside, and felt secure enough that no new creature would pop out of the cupboards to terrorize them.

*********

When Fleur finally awoke, it was midday, thirty-six hours after Hermione had returned her to the village. Tomira helped her sit up, gave her some water, asked how she was feeling, and inspected the wounds again. Fleur bore it all patiently; she was sore and stiff, thirsty but not starving, the pain was muted, and her limbs were a little numb at her extremities.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the healer.

“What for?”

“I was supposed to help you out here, and instead I’ve hijacked all your attention.” Tomira gave her an understanding smile. 

“Well, we are pleased things are returning to normal, and that you survived. And your witcher has been scurrying around, completing the work of several people, so we’ll just call it even. I had to keep her occupied so she wouldn’t spend all her time fretting about you.” Fleur nearly choked on her sip of water.

“Oh, uh, she’s not _my_ witcher. …She is my _employee_ , actually,” the blonde corrected, with all the dignity she could muster.

“Of course, my mistake,” Tomira replied amiably. Fleur couldn’t stop herself from turning red. “I would like to administer more salve, and change the bandages again. But perhaps you might try eating something light? And of course, I’m sure Hermione would like to see you. She did mention you were also a mage?”

“Still training, but yes. I just need to impose on you a bit longer; recover enough to draw and properly channel the Power, so I can get back on my horse.”

“Honestly, don’t worry yourself. Most of us are just delighted we won’t be eaten in the night.”

“Where is Hermione, anyway?” Fleur finally asked, eyeing the side of her bed, and noticing that a bit of witcher gear was scattered on the floor, around the base of her nightstand. Tomira couldn’t hold back her grin.

“I shall have someone fetch her post-haste, as well as some food for you. Do you think you can sit at a table?”

“Yes, I’d prefer to stretch a little…” Fleur said sheepishly. Tomira nodded, and left the house briefly to have an errand-boy hunt down Hermione. Only ten minutes later, while Fleur was contemplating the feasibility of a bath, she heard the sound of running feet, assuming Hermione was approaching, which was quite unlike the witcher’s customarily silent gait. Seconds later, the door burst open, said witcher belatedly realizing how harshly she had flung it open, looking bashfully from Fleur back to the door. Tomira appeared behind her, holding a basket of fruit, looking amused. It seemed like this was going to be her default expression while in the presence of the brunette and the veela. Hermione awkwardly apologized for mistreating Tomira’s door, and then rushed over to Fleur’s side.

Fleur gave her an evaluative stare, while the witcher evidently did the same, though a little more worriedly. The veela was looking much less etiolated, and Hermione finally permitted herself to believe the stream of assurances Tomira had been dispensing the past several hours. The blonde meanwhile, was appreciating the fact that Hermione was wearing a new, light blue fitted shirt, her silver Griffin medallion occasionally reflecting the light as it shifted with her movements. Her hair was habitually tied half-up out of her face with a strip of leather, some chocolate curls falling about her shoulders. Tomira had apparently informed her about the plan to feed Fleur, as she hesitantly looked away, and hurriedly began clearing off a space for Fleur to eat at a nearby table.

“That looks like a new shirt,” she called out teasingly. Hermione paused in her frenetic furniture rearranging to answer the veela.

“Yeah I uh, ended up buying it from the town’s seamstress. I had asked her to mend the torn seams in my gambeson. The blacksmith is repairing my brigandine, and erm; I just had my undershirt or sleep shirt. Witchers don’t have much of a wardrobe,” she explained self-deprecatingly. The brunette couldn’t read Fleur’s expression, so she went back to setting up the table for a meal.

Fleur meanwhile, supposed there was something to be said for being bed-ridden. Despite Hermione’s words about a witcher lacking an extensive wardrobe, Fleur could easily admire her shapely ass in those very well tailored trousers, as she zipped about, making things easier for the veela to move around. Tomira’s grin had widened in the last few minutes, and Fleur grew flustered, suspecting that the herbalist must have caught a glimpse of her ogling the _not-her-witcher_ , and had the grace not to point it out.

“Are you all right, Fleur?” The veela jolted, wincing a little. Hermione was standing next to her bed, peering down at her.

“Wonderful,” she enunciated slowly, willing herself to act normal, and ignoring the twinge caused by the rough movement.

“Okay, well, I can help you up, or just carry you to the chair…” Fleur had indeed retained the hazy memory of being carried bridal style by Hermione through the ruins and then onto Crookshanks. She had been in quite a bit of pain, but still managed to discern a measure of contentment in being cradled delicately by the witcher.

“Hermione,” Tomira called, while Fleur had been immobilized by indecision, and the witcher looked back over her shoulder. “I haven’t known you or Fleur for very long, but I do have a sneaking suspicion that she may be a little stubborn. Perhaps you can carefully transport her to the table? She seems to have managed to maintain an upright position well enough so far.”

“Certainly, if Fleur doesn’t mind…” Hermione replied, looking back down at the blonde. Her eyes had widened in alarm, but she stamped it down and nodded at Hermione. In deliberate and precise actions, the witcher bent at her knees and lifted Fleur, swaddled in a blanket, turned, and gently brought her to the arranged seat. Herbal tea, some broth from the inn’s kitchen, and a bit of fruit were arrayed before her. Fleur hid her face by picking at the food, but was pleased to have a change from lying prone on the bed for so long. She could sense Hermione attempting to glance furtively at her every so often, and the reminder that the brunette had been forcibly removed from her bedside suffused her with a warm, comforting feeling that easily eclipsed her embarrassment.

*********

Later that evening, the witcher had once again stationed herself on the floor at the side of the veela’s bed. Hermione’s eyes darted around the room anxiously, her gaze landing on Fleur a few times, and then flitting away once again. The blonde waited patiently with a neutral expression. The witcher eventually marshaled the gumption to speak.

“Fleur, if we encounter a situation where we must fight together again, I need to ask that you do not risk yourself for me as you did with the basilisk. I cannot allow you to be harmed on my behalf; I do not think I could bear it again. If I happen to incur several more wounds in the process, well, it simply comes with the job. I would bear whatever I had to so long as you remain unscathed.”

Fleur took a long time to reply, appearing both endeared and exasperated, as she sought out her words.

“Hermione, haven’t you learned by now how hard it is dissuade me from a course of action I set my mind to? You didn’t _ask_ me to do anything. I wanted to help, and well, I daresay I learned something of the encounter. But I’m not sorry about it.

And furthermore, did you actually hear yourself just now? By your logic, I should find it perfectly acceptable to witness you being grievously injured and not act even if there was something I could do…because that’s only to be expected, given that your occupation is being a witcher. So somehow, the fact of the matter is I ought to condone the sight of a friend coming to harm because that’s _just the way things are_.” Fleur had almost spat out the words at the end of her critique of Hermione’s petition, and was now glaring pointedly at the witcher.

"I appreciate the sentiment, I do. I can promise to be as prudent and careful as realistically possible. I cannot promise to ignore you in peril, if there is anything at all for me to do in response.”

Hermione was frowning as she listened to Fleur, and eventually she pursed her lips as the blonde had said her piece. She really should’ve expected something along the lines of what the veela had just articulated. The brunette had gambled and made her appeal regardless. Hermione suddenly wanted to slap herself. She was so besotted with this woman; the rational parts of her brain had been compromised. _Whatever_ , she finally thought to herself. She’d take whatever time Fleur allotted her and do her best with it.

The veela’s countenance had softened, and she was scrutinizing Hermione with a furrowed brow, anticipating more of a debate. The brunette’s expressions seemed to lead to a complete internal trial by jury, and by the end she looked as though she had come to a conclusion that she did not deign to share.

“So this witcher has gained another friend then, hm?” the brunette said eventually. Fleur affected a haughty air.

“Oui. And you ought to feel appropriately honored; for veela are picky about those with whom they associate.”

“I would never dare think otherwise,” Hermione replied with a smile.

*********

Fleur’s routine consisted of much the same for the next day; sleep and/or rest, with a little bit of light fare for sustenance, and she even managed to compose a short note, also addressed to her sister. When finally she’d decided she’d had enough of sponge baths, she all but demanded Hermione assist her into obtaining a proper one. The witcher was sent to the inn to commandeer a large tub, while Fleur felt perfectly well enough to cast a simple spell and fill it with heated water. Hermione had immediately blushed at the notion of helping Fleur with anything while only adorned with a towel, but Tomira was otherwise occupied, and the veela herself was rather unperturbed.

“You know, if you are so concerned about propriety, you are welcome to offset the issue and strip down as well,” Fleur announced casually. The brunette stammered that she’d be perfectly fine keeping her gaze away and assured Fleur she wouldn’t intrude upon her privacy, all while the veela laughed gleefully. Fleur remembered well that just the other evening she’d been rattled over the thought of being carried in _her_ witcher’s arms, and now was apparently unconcerned with being nude in her presence. Perhaps only one of them was allowed to be flustered at any given moment. But she was not ashamed of her body, and she felt safe with Hermione. Also, she really, really wanted a bath.

They paused by the empty tub, Fleur already out of her sleep shirt and only wrapped in her towel, while Hermione held her upright as she cast the necessary magic. She added some soap she had packed, and when the brunette realized Fleur was reaching for the knot that held the towel in place, Hermione slammed her eyes shut, her whole face crinkling in an effort not to peek, like a child instructed to keep their eyes shut for a surprise. Fleur found it absolutely endearing. The brunette stood as still and stable as possible, allowing Fleur to use her as a crutch in whatever manner she deemed necessary. Slowly, she stepped into the bath, her balance supported by holding onto the witcher’s arm. Hermione seemed to sense her moving, and lowered herself to the floor along with the blonde as she got situated in the soapy water. She heard the sound of the happy sigh as Fleur relaxed into the tub. Hermione turned and sat, leaned her back against the side of the tub and opened her eyes.

“I think tomorrow I will be well enough to channel and cast safely. We can finally be on our way, and I’ll see a veela healer when we reach Caed Dhu.”

“I’m sorry for the delay,” Hermione said, trying mightily not to envision the naked blonde, hearing the water sloshing behind her.

“I understood,” Fleur reminded her. “These people seemed due for a bit of good fortune, and you gave them their hope back.”

“I do wish that turns out to be the case,” Hermione sighed. “It’s uncommon for any sort of gratitude beyond ‘here’s your money please leave,’ to come from a contract, but I really do hope things work out for them. Perhaps I’ve merely gotten lucky, and the charisma of my lovely companion warmed them a bit towards the frightening witcher.” Fleur snickered good-humoredly.

“You’re really not that terrifying-looking,” the blonde stated mildly. Hermione gasped loudly. Fleur could imagine the affected look of indignation, and grinned.

“What? How dare you! For our very name is ‘nearly as repulsive as the monsters we hunt!’ Have you forgotten that our ‘ilk were brought to life by vile and godless sorcery?’” The brunette proclaimed facetiously. Fleur scoffed.

“Every time I happen to find copies of those wretched volumes espousing all that rubbish, I’m burning them immediately,” she declared. The resolute words sent a giddy thrill through Hermione, and she almost turned back to beam at her _friend_ for the support, before hastily recalling said friend was also naked, and instead awkwardly jerked her neck a little. Fleur didn’t bother to hide her giggle, playfully splashing some water at her.

“Hey!” Hermione exclaimed, pretending to cower away from the water. “See if I let you use me as your personal-set-of-crutches-on-standby again.”

"Perhaps not,” Fleur responded offhandedly, “Perhaps next time you’ll simply be in the bath with me.”

Hermione flushed instantly, choking on her own saliva and collapsing into a fit of coughing and sputtering, while Fleur erupted in a musical gale of laughter. The brunette’s only thought amidst struggling to reclaim her breath was _yup, this woman is eventually gonna kill me_.

*********

The next day dawned auspiciously. Fleur was correct in predicting her recovery sufficient to accelerate her healing, and she was delighted to resume their journey. They dressed and got ready for the day cheerfully; Hermione donning her armor fully once again heightened the feeling of normalcy. They said their goodbyes, thanked Tomira profusely, who insisted they stop by the village again if possible. She seemed to have become genuinely fond of the pair of them, and Hermione was heartened to be able to log another settlement willing to honestly settle witcher contracts. She hoped she could count on Tomira as a pacifying influence, though she wished more that the town would be free of any monster incursions for some time. They decided to travel through the Klamat mountain pass and trade route instead of crossing the Yaruga River by ferry.

Hermione was glad for the chance to explore Caed Dhu. The home of a circle of druids and some of Fleur’s veela relatives was situated at the edge of the Mahakam Mountains, and part of the region of Angren. Chaffinches, redpolls, and whitethroats trilled their songs as sentries led them into the woodland depths. The brunette admired the veela’s residences that were intricately formed from the structure of the trees. They were alive of course, but responded to the veelas’ touch, as though the plant life cooperatively grew outwards, forming alcoves and hollows that the veela could then sculpt and shape into dwellings to their liking. These habitats were fashioned from the plethora of cedars, sycamores and pines typically found in Angren. The forest’s greenfinches seldom moved too far within its borders, and littered the branches framing various homes, inadvertently decorating them.

The druids dwelt nearby but were not intermingled with the veela, keeping watch on the western end of the forest by the swamps of Ysgith. They were generally held in high regard by the local human populace, and thus dealt with any who entered the boundaries of the forest requesting help. The reluctance of any monarch or magnate to create social unrest by hassling the druids benefited the neighboring veela as well, and most recently both parties were happy that Nilfgaard had terminated its efforts in storming through the region, stripping it of its trees to build their ships.

Fleur had decamped down a forest path with a group of veela to impart whatever information she had been tasked with, but not before Hermione had pointedly mentioned her lingering injury, obviously to alert a veela healer to employ their magics and evaluate her condition fully. Fleur had narrowed her eyes slightly, but Hermione had adequately maintained her “placidly concerned” expression and avoided looking back at the blonde’s reaction.

Left to her own devices, Hermione fed and groomed their horses; delighted that Éclair seemed to officially approve of her now (and she’d been entirely correct in predicting the effect of sunlight on the manes of both Fleur and her horse). She asked the non-occupied veela questions about their history and culture, as much as she could without being impertinent and intrusive, and then wandered off to ask the druids’ head herbalist if they wished to trade or sell any rare plants.

At night, the witcher listened to the soughing of leaves as the nocturnal forest creatures began their activities. Fleur had fallen asleep shortly after they returned from luxurious baths, the blonde seeming to be relaxed and hale after whatever treatment the other veela had bestowed. Soon, she and Fleur will follow the Newi River south, and eventually hit a road stemming from Lyria and the Yaruga. It was all the more evident now that their adventure together was concluding. Fleur had referred to her as a friend, and perhaps Hermione would try to visit her periodically as she did with Neville. But the veela alone had been more or less dictating the terms of their arrangement, given the start to their relationship, and perhaps it would continue that way, when only one half of the pair was considered “respectable society.” Or until the novelty of the witcher wore off, Hermione supposed. The brunette couldn’t complain, and when the time came, she would take her leave with dignity.

*********

The massive Mount Gorgon loomed over them in the town of Belhaven, and it was highest peak of the Amell Mountain range encircling Toussaint, the top frequently shrouded in fog. This was their last stop before the two women planned to board a barge and sail down the Sansretour River until they reached the port at Beauclair. After a simple dinner, Hermione set down her empty goblet and bid Fleur good night.

“Where are you going?” Fleur inquired, tilting her head.

“To sleep in the stables. Though I could probably ask for a cheap room if any space is left, I’d completely forgot about it. I’m used to camping outside with Crookshanks most of the time anyway. I noticed right away since Caed Dhu that the weather here is much milder.” Fleur frowned. Hermione had stayed by her bedside while she recovered in Tomira’s home, and they’d shared guest quarters in the veela settlement in Caed Dhu. She categorically was not going to allow the brunette to spend money on another room, nor bunk with the animals again, even if she kept maintaining she was inured to roughing it.

“Non, there is space in the room I paid for. You will sleep in there.”

“It’s really not a problem, Fleur.”

“It will be for _me_ ,” the blonde insisted. “You’ll sleep with the animals, and then I’ll have a smelly riding partner the whole day.” Hermione inevitably rolled her eyes. Nevertheless, she followed Fleur up the stairs to the second floor of the tavern into the room she rented. She winced a little on the steps, flexing her leg a little as they reached the landing and entered the sparsely furnished room. It was clean at least, and indeed large enough for two, and included a tub for a bath, placed behind a partition, though Fleur would likely prefer to conjure the water herself again.

“Are you all right?” Fleur asked in concern, closing and locking the door behind the brunette.

“Yes, just sore along my leg. We’ve had many long days of riding, and that sometimes aggravates the old injury over time. Feels a little stiff and achy.”

“Hmm,” Fleur responded pensively, watching the brunette move around. Hermione had selected a portion of the floor, placed her pack down in a nook, shed her gauntlets, and began arranging her bedroll to sleep in. Next, she started to detach her armor, unbuckling her spiked pauldrons, poleyns, and organized them carefully in her claimed space. Her newly repaired brigandine was then taken off, which she inspected routinely before placing it with the other bits of her gear. Finally, removing her gambeson left her in her undershirt. She hadn’t paid any attention to Fleur’s introspective stare, and anyway a few moments later the blonde had gone about her business with her own luggage. She washed up with the basin Fleur had filled with water, and tumbled uncaringly onto her bedroll while shucking off her boots.

Evidently, she had dozed off, because some time later, Hermione was awakened from a light sleep when Fleur’s foot poked at her side.

“You should take a bath,” Fleur announced, peering down at her. The witcher blinked drowsily.

“Oh sure, that sounds nice,” she murmured with a yawn. She fumbled to her feet, and made her way to the bathing corner where Fleur had replenished the tub with magic. Hermione stripped efficiently, dropping her clothing on the floor and sinking happily into the soapy water. She absentmindedly noticed Fleur’s arm snake past the partition to snatch her clothes. There was a quiet incantation, and shortly after, they reappeared hanging off the edge of the partition. She allowed herself a few minutes to relax in the water, before scrubbing down and then drying with a spare towel.

The brunette emerged damp but feeling better, redressed in clean clothing. Fleur was already in her own sleepwear, ordering the last of her belongings. Hermione moved back to her bedroll, eager to resettle into sleep.

“I have a salve that will probably help with your leg,” Fleur informed her, having rummaged through her own gear.

“Couldn't hurt to try it,” the brunette replied distractedly, fluffing a makeshift pillow she assembled out of her pack.

“Bon. Take off your pants and sit here.”

“…What?” Her motions stiffened and her body froze.

“ _Remove_ your trousers, Hermione,” Fleur ordered deliberately, holding a jar and waiting expectantly by her bed. The brunette turned slowly from her pallet to the waiting blonde, her eyes shifting from the veela to the bed and back again. Hermione schooled her expression, stood and approached with measured movements, and began unfastening the garment once she had stopped next to the side of the bed.

“Okay well, don’t complain that you’ll have to look at the unsightly scars,” she responded, hoping she appeared entirely casual. She had just extracted one leg when Fleur was suddenly in her personal space, nudging her backwards so she toppled somewhat ungracefully on her ass onto the edge of the mattress. Fleur looked down at her mischievously, pulling her trousers from her other leg and chucking them indifferently over her shoulder, vaguely in the direction of the rest of Hermione’s things. Her eyes ran the length of the witcher, from eyes to lips, along her torso, down the stretch of her now exposed legs. Hermione didn’t dare move. Fleur knelt by the wound, tugging from behind the brunette’s right knee to extend her limb and examine the injury. Hermione noted idly that the blonde’s hands were rather warm, trailing softly along her skin, pressing at various points on her muscles.

“Lay back,” she commanded, stepping away and picking up the container of ointment, while Hermione obeyed and situated herself along the bed. Fleur took out some of the salve, but rather than simply applying it to the scar tissue, she began massaging it into Hermione’s thigh. As if sensing that Hermione might protest, Fleur spoke as she worked.

“This will help pliability, movement, and your range of motion, on top of easing up the pain and tightness you already described.” Hermione couldn’t deny that her leg already felt better thanks to the medicine and Fleur’s therapeutic intervention.

“I uh, thank you. It _is_ starting to feel much better.” Fleur continued for several more minutes, until Hermione had melted back into the mattress and had finally unwound. She washed the remnants of the ointment from her hands, and the brunette started to move up from the bed to return to her section of the room.

“Stay there, there’s enough space for both of us. The floor is going to make your neck and back stiff in the morning,” the blonde had finished cleaning up, and padded back to the bed after yet another directive for her companion.

“It doesn’t really, I’ve gotten used to sleeping in uncomfortable places,” Hermione explained again hurriedly, but the blonde had already lain down and entangled their limbs, promptly beginning to siphon heat from Hermione. Fleur had slightly nudged away the Griffin medallion on the witcher’s chest to position her head just so.

“Too late. You’re warm and I run cold.” Blankets were adjusted accordingly, cocooning them snugly.

“Can I have my trousers back at least?”

“Non.”

“But-”

“They’re reinforced with leather. They’re not soft, and they are not comfortable to rest in. Now shut up and sleep.”

“…Oui, madame.” The brunette settled her arms around Fleur, realizing the rest of her body had apparently relaxed several minutes before she’d actually thought she had given in to being Fleur’s personal heater. It was indeed a novelty having a friend as flirty and tactile as Fleur evidently was. Before falling asleep, Hermione had to admit she was no longer surprised that the veela could readily inveigle her into doing anything.

*********

Paying for the voyage on the barge had been fine. The fact that Hermione happened to be a witcher _also_ seemed fine. The horses however, were most seriously displeased that their humans (relatively speaking) had insisted on taking them onto the lightly swaying craft, and finally Hermione had to resort to using Axii to calm their increasingly truculent behavior.

“You could have to tried to help a little, you know,” Hermione complained later.

“Oui, I could have,” Fleur agreed nonchalantly. “But I was greatly entertained by you fussing about between stalls, attempting feverishly to appease two grumpy animals, both of which were so easily goading you,” Fleur laughed devilishly.

“I should’ve known,” the witcher glared. “Your horse is a bad influence on mine! Cajoling Crookshanks into such schemes!” Hermione exclaimed indignantly. Fleur merely laughed harder, looking as unremorseful as always when she riled up the brunette for her own amusement.

*********

Toussaint was full of rolling verdant hills, many enveloped by sprawling vineyards. It seemed to be similarly agriculturally rich as northern Aedirn, but somehow Toussaint also possessed a certain, spirited charm. There was a lot of greenery, seemingly brighter than Hermione was used to, with an abundance of wildflowers. In fact, the province on the whole seemed much more colorful, the plant-life, the citizens’ clothing, and the buildings themselves.

Her gaze had much to take in as they disembarked from the barge at Beauclair’s port, and Fleur led them into the heart of the city. Inner Beauclair had an even more vibrant essence. The capital city had its stylishly dressed nobles populating smooth cobblestone and sett streets, varied architecture, and additional multihued buildings, such that everything amassed to form a continuous elegant image. Even the rooftops differed from orange, to red to red-orange, with an odd sprinkling of olive green. Extensive flowerbeds, painted animals, landscapes and arabesque designs decorated the walls of various buildings supplementing the range of shades.

Hermione now found herself people-watching, sitting on an ornately carved wooden bench outside the Cianfanelli bank, hoping that the structure _was_ intended to be used as a bench, and not instead some extravagant art piece simply masquerading as one. Then again, even the doors of the bank were inlaid with gold, so she suspected her hunch was correct. Passersby gave her some curious looks, others far more sour, but the Ducal Guard seemed to be content leaving Fleur as her chaperone, so no one came up to harangue her. Although the swords might also have something to do with that, she thought wryly. There were however, some tables and chairs positioned near a rectangular fountain, laden with food and wine, across from her on the other side of the street. Some Toussaintois kept looking pointedly in her direction, so Hermione had to guess she was the current subject of a riveting conversation.

Soon enough, Fleur exited the bank, the promised amount of crowns in a hefty pouch, which she handed to Hermione with a soft smile. The brunette reached for it slowly, looking a little unsure. She glanced up at Fleur, returning the smile wanly, feeling a sudden wave of sadness engulf her. If she were lucky, maybe she’d get to see Fleur as often as she saw Neville.

“All right well, thanks…for the job,” she said awkwardly, holding up her reward and rising to her feet. “I mean uh, it was nice traveling with you. Maybe we can write? I’m so sorry you got hurt because of me. Good luck with your magic studies and um, stay away from witchers I guess…?” She was floundering spectacularly, so she turned to leave. Hermione had little practice in genuine human interactions, and Fleur effortlessly unbalanced her.

“Non!” Fleur burst out. Hermione jerked her head back towards the blonde, as if something large and nefarious suddenly popped up out of the tastefully cultivated and lively flower boxes. Fleur quickly quelled her panic.

“…Non, I cannot consider this contract fulfilled yet. I have paid you yes, but you must escort me directly to my home,” Fleur commanded more evenly. Hermione blinked back at her, then did a visual sweep of their surroundings, noting that they were indeed _still_ in the company of well dressed, affluent people ambling about, shopping, or eating outside.

“I suppose I can accompany you all the way to your vineyard,” she agreed haltingly. She _did_ want more Fleur-time if possible… “But I’ll need to find a suitable place to stay after I drop you off. And I probably can’t splurge too much in Beauclair,” Hermione told her. She had a fair way to go in returning North, and she didn’t expect to run into a lot potential contracts until she passed through the Amell Mountains encasing Toussaint.

“Nonsense, you will stay on the estate. And when you need to leave, we shall furnish you with supplies.”

“Are you sure your family won’t mind? I’m not exactly the sort of guest one brings home,” Hermione remarked skeptically.

“I am sure. Although…” Fleur trailed off enticingly, like she just remembered something. “I heard some of the guards gossiping while waiting in line, and some vineyards are experiencing trouble with infestations. Toussaint is famous for its wines, I’m sure those affected would welcome a professional. Perhaps you could remain in the duchy for a bit and see to those,” Fleur explained casually, as if the specific nature of the problems described _coincidentally_ happened to pertain to the witcher before her.

“What sort of infestations?”

“Oh, well, giant centipedes, for one. Some wine sellers like to take advantage of the burrows they dig under the Sansretour Valley. They’re a good place to store wine, but of course the centipedes travel through those tunnels. Or within the fields themselves, some sort of hideous plants, taller than a person. I could ask mon père when I return which households have had such problems lately,” the blonde said, again, seeming to not care whether Hermione decided to investigate the leads or not.

“Sounds like archespores,” Hermione mused aloud. “Haven’t seen those cursed sorts in a while. But dealing with them and the centipedes would require a lot of alchemy for me to prepare, I’ll need a good supply of antidotes and such.”

“My father has some equipment at home, it would be no trouble for you to use it. So it’s settled! Let’s get going,” Fleur asserted in a rush. Hermione normally would’ve balked at such an abrupt change of plans, but the potential of contracts meant money, and so long as the Delacours didn’t chase her off their property with torches and pitchforks, she’d happily take a glimpse of Fleur’s world.

*********

Hermione had to widen her smile a little as each servant they passed hailed and hollered salutations to Fleur, and she in turn, greeted them back by name. The estate was massive and well tended, and the Delacours cultivated their own assortment of vineyards as an almost hobby (they were not as driven as many other Toussaintois vintners). Hermione could already detect that most people who labored here enjoyed it. They could have sped past the workers, up the private roads into the manor, but the brunette could perceive that Fleur was genuinely pleased to spare a hello for the retainers, and in this way Hermione could also get a look at the environs.

When they finally arrived at threshold of the mansion, a younger blonde resembling Fleur burst out of the entryway and nearly tackled Fleur to the ground in a hug. The young woman was then followed by a stately gentleman, who greeted the older veela more calmly, but no less affectionately. Finally, a statuesque and preternaturally beautiful woman strode out of the house to embrace Fleur as well. Hermione could discern a stronger mystical aura about her, and undoubtedly this must be the veela’s mother. They began to speak in their native language, as Fleur presumably gave her family a quick rundown of their journey.

The witcher watched with wistful curiosity as Fleur was welcomed home. How strange it would be she thought, to have people know you, recognize you, and await you. Joyfully. Hermione had been perpetually embrangled in the supernatural. That having been the case for all her life, she experienced probably a mere fraction of such of a reception, with the contacts and acquaintances she tried to bond with over the years. How enviable, to be welcomed.

After the hugs and enthusiastic greetings, Fleur’s family obligingly lined themselves up to be introduced to Hermione. Fleur gestured to her younger sister Gabrielle, her father Julien, and her mother Apolline, and each shook the witcher’s hand without flinching. Fleur gave a tidbit of information about her family members; Gabrielle would be starting her studies at Beauxbatons soon, their father was a professor at Toussaint’s academy, and their mother was a sorceress advisor at the court of the Duchess Anna Henrietta.

Fleur’s parents asked Hermione a few basic questions, her father appearing sincerely interested, and her mother neglecting to hide her clear look of appraisal while the brunette responded to the queries. Apolline got her opportunity to amply observe, since Hermione had mentioned Fleur’s description of Julien’s library, and the two bookworms conversed eagerly for several minutes about various tomes. The witcher was aware of the woman’s gaze, but found herself unshaken at the scrutiny. Fleur kept half an eye on her father and Hermione chatting spiritedly, and half an eye on her younger sister. Gabrielle was up to no good, she was sure of it. She was looking at Hermione like she had expected her, but now was not sure what she expected.

Eventually, her parents excused themselves, Apolline to alert the staff of Hermione’s arrival, and her father citing his professor duties, explaining that he had essays to grade. He did make certain to assure Hermione that was she invited to peruse his book collection, after Fleur gave her a tour of the property. The witcher thanked him courteously, coming across a little amazed that her first impression seemed to have gone over well.

*********

Gabrielle turned back to her sister after they had directed Hermione to a stall where she could get Crookshanks settled. Fleur blatantly ignored her smirk. Naturally Hermione had drawn Gabrielle’s attention! Fleur had mentioned the witcher in her letters, waxing poetic about the person who had since become a friend, which of course the older veela had never done before. Fleur needed an outlet to help process her emotions, and while she did adore her little sister, well…she could also be a little shit. Furthermore, Toussaint was swamped with tons of knights-errant, drunk on pomp and circumstance, and Hermione certainly looked like a different sort of warrior.

“Well, she does look like she can handle a sword,” the younger blonde observed casually.

“And a bow,” Fleur replied without thinking, still watching Hermione groom the chestnut horse. Her sister’s eyes widened.

“Oh really? You never let anyone else play with your toy. What else of yours did she handle?” Gabrielle asked coyly. Fleur, startled out of admiring her witcher, shot a withering glare at her younger sister, who continued undeterred.

“So what’s the plan? Keep her around as long as possible so you can continue to ogle her? Shall we put on some creature costumes and invent some monster sightings?”

“There’s no need for that,” Fleur stated primly, rolling her eyes. “I’ve heard talk of some vineyards having trouble with various pests of some kind. I will ask Papa for more specifics.”

“Indeed? How proactive of you!” Gabrielle exclaimed cheerfully. Fleur let out an exasperated sigh and decided to escape by walking back to Hermione and checking if anything was amiss. At least showing the witcher around her home would keep her wily little sister away from them for some time.

*********

Apolline had come back outside after ordering guest quarters prepared and informing the kitchen about their visitor, and stood next to Gabrielle as they watched Fleur interact with Hermione. 

“So your sister has adopted a witcher, hm?” She remarked to her younger daughter.

“She’s been away for over a month, and I am happy to see her again. Though Fleur has _never_ brought anyone home! She sent me letters, and she is completely gone on her, I can already tell,” Gabrielle giggled.

Apolline’s eyebrows had risen at this statement. She couldn’t remember the last time her elder daughter had really expressed interest in anything other than her studies, horses, or pestering her little sister. Nor did she easily forge emotional connections with people spontaneously. Nevertheless, she trusted Fleur’s judge of character.

She had clearly gotten the impression that Hermione meant more than only “the muscle” tasked with the job of escorting Fleur home. The witcher was definitely an odd individual for whom Fleur would form an attachment. Apolline knew they had a reputation, but her common sense and magical expertise easily discounted the most ostentatious rumors. At the present moment, she had determined that Hermione passed muster at her refusal to shirk away from Apolline’s blatant, calculating stare.

“I have to agree that this behavior is relatively novel. What have you plotted thus far?” Gabrielle immediately affected a look of shock.

“Why maman, I have no idea what you mean!” her younger daughter claimed.

“My little darling,” Apolline began patronizingly, but moderated her tone with a smile. “I spend most of my day in court at the palace, and I happen to do it quite regularly. As a result, I have become well-versed in subterfuge, and can readily tell when someone is putting on airs, and when one is being predominantly deceitful.” Gabrielle pouted at her a little, but the prospects of mischief entailing Fleur induce her to give in to her mother.

“Well…isn’t the Duchess holding that informal soiree in a few days for the nobles, wealthiest merchants and members of her court and so on to hobnob?”

“She is,” Apolline replied with a growing smirk.

“You should tell Fleur her presence is mandatory. Something about potentially succeeding you in your advisory court position perhaps. As long as Hermione is comfortable with attending, it would be yet another reason for the witcher to remain in Toussaint, and keep the knights-errant away from our beloved, irascible Fleur.” Her mother laughed.

“It _would_ make the tedious affair more bearable for myself, I’m sure. Fleur might appreciate being able to indulge in the palace's extravagances after being on the road for quite some time,” Apolline mused.

“They’ll be more entertaining that the entertainment provided. I’m betting once you inform her of the event, she’ll go ask Hermione post-haste, who will likely say something about never having attended a ball in her life, and then Fleur will wheedle an agreement from her anyway.”

“You mon chou, are far too perceptive and devious for your own good,” Apolline commented, amused despite herself.

“I learned from the best! After all, one of your daughters has to be. If Fleur declines the assignment at court, at least we know _I’ll_ be good at it. I clearly won’t have any issue putting any courtier in their place,” Gabrielle declared smugly, and Apolline chuckled. “And second of all, Fleur needs all the help she can get. My hapless sister is _not_ that suave, no matter how much she thinks she is. Besides, my hunch is that Hermione is far more knightly than any of the buffoons overrunning our duchy, and at this rate, they’ll never get anywhere.”

“All right all right, please, go easy on said ‘hapless’ sister,” her mother replied, tugging her impish, opinionated child back into the manor.

*********

Hermione’s room was in the guest area on the ground floor of the west wing of the manor. She had a sizable window with a nice view of a garden and the lovely Toussaintois landscape unraveling beyond. The room was fully endowed with mahogany furniture; a desk, dresser with washbasin, an elegant candelabrum placed on a nightstand, (in fact the whole room was well-lit) and in the center was a large comfortable bed laden with a multitude of pillows. Hermione had never slept somewhere so lavish.

She was assigned specific servants who would prepare baths at her request, and was informed she need only visit the kitchen if she found herself hungry in between meal times. The brunette was certainly unaccustomed to such luxuries being at her disposal, nor the bonafide interest in her from Fleur’s family. By far her most bizarre and wonderful surprise was that of the family cat. Pierre-Auguste Moustacherois, chief mouser to the Delacours and also, of all things, a painter.

“A painting cat?” Hermione had asked, bewildered. The veela had looked back at her impassively.

“Tell me you haven’t encountered far stranger things as a witcher,” Fleur had replied point-blank.

Pierre-Auguste Moustacherois was a grey and white longhaired feline, possessing two distinctive streaks of white fur trailing upwards along his mouth just like a mustache. It was truly adorable. And he painted, apparently.

Hermione had yet to see the artistic cat in action, and for the moment, she was just thrilled that he seemed to adore her rather quickly. He’d allowed her to pet him, and even permitted her to lift and bestow cuddles for a time. Most cats found her presence unnerving, and their reactions varied from scurrying away immediately to hissing angrily. Neville had once told her that it was because of all the creatures of the earth, only cats and dragons could channel the Power naturally. Hermione found herself inordinately gratified that the Delacour animals had favored her, and that she seemed to be on her way to winning over the family as well. Her satisfaction did seem a little silly, but it was a nice feeling just the same. Crookshanks seemed happy in his new lodgings, as well, and the estate retainers seemed to care for him just as well as the Delacours’ own animals.

*********

Dinner their first night was an interesting affair. The room was stylishly furnished, brightly painted, without the gaudiness she might’ve expected from the exceptionally wealthy. Hermione noted immediately that the dining table was…cozy, for lack of better term. She was seated next to Fleur, and overall the family was situated quite close to one another, unlike many formal dining rooms she had seen belonging to the aristocracy. Servants had plated everyone’s food, and placed the remainder of the dishes readily available in the center of the table. Each of their goblets had been filled; one with water, another with wine, and then all relevant bottles and pitchers were also positioned evenly along the table. Once everyone had been attended, the servants had disappeared, such that no retainer was left hovering in the corners of the room, awkwardly lurking, waiting for the slightest order or command from the masters of the household.

Hermione decided that that suited her just fine, and quietly tucked into her meal when her hosts had begun eating themselves. She spoke only when spoken to, and allowed Fleur to take the lead in recounting the story of their journey to her family. She dreaded the moment the incident with the basilisk would come up, half-expecting Fleur’s mother to assail her with a series of inventive spells, on account of her nearly getting her daughter killed. Fleur’s father and sister meanwhile, would attack her with whichever were their weapons of choice.

Fortunately, that didn’t happen, but everyone had stopped eating when Fleur had reached that part of their tale. Hermione kept herself from looking directly at the other Delacours, but she did feel their curious glances land on her several times as Fleur assured them that she was in perfect health, and that the veela healers in Caed Dhu had performed additional diagnostic tests, and now there was virtually no trace of the injuries on her person thanks to their magic. She had emphasized that Hermione had never badgered her into participating in the battle, and detailed her efforts in slaying the beast quickly in order to get Fleur the necessary medical attention. The brunette noted that Fleur hadn’t mentioned the fact that Hermione had given the blonde a portion of a witcher potion, but suspected that that had come up when they were in the veela settlement.

Following that, Fleur continued her narrative in the veela language, undoubtedly reporting to her mother the results of whatever her mission had been. It turned out that Gabrielle was also fluent in the language, so it was just Julien and Hermione left out, looking at each other. Hermione’s expression manifested carefully blank, while the professor smiled congenially at her. Eventually, after a minute or so of eating quietly while the blondes at the table spoke animatedly, Julien began asking the witcher about the nature of the leshen. More minutiae about how she fought it, the fact that it was considered a sapient monster and how that impacted her strategy in combat, its magic, where it chose to dwell, and so on. Hermione gradually opened up, and soon found it easy to communicate with Fleur’s father. They had gotten so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn’t realized the veela contingent had concluded their secret-magical-creature conference, and had been watching the two intellectuals with mirth.

*********

Fleur took her time the next morning, sleeping in, reveling in the fact that she was back home, and enjoying the comfort of her own bed once more. It was a beautiful day, and she freshened up and dressed casually in sturdy riding attire, making her way down the stairs. Hermione wasn’t in the kitchens, and a servant informed her the witcher had been seen running laps around the estate in full gear early that morning. Fleur hoped this bout of activity was due to the fact that the brunette happened to sleep well, and not because she found herself restless and uncomfortable at her family’s home.

She located Hermione when the brunette had evidently completed her circuits around the property, and was now progressing through some swordplay drills. The witcher fought uniquely and fluidly, and Fleur didn’t think she’d ever been captivated observing any display of martial arts until now. She was sure Hermione had detected her presence, but she did not suspend her routine to greet the veela. Fleur wanted to tease her about her discipline, but now having a better idea of what the brunette trained to fight, she couldn’t begrudge the witcher her exercises. She selected a wooden bench a respectable distance from where the witcher performed her maneuvers, and watched unobtrusively. She found it fascinating that every piece of protective equipment Hermione utilized was selected to maximize the efficiency of her style of combat.

The brunette had essentially told her as much when she briefly explained the use of her hand crossbow, but Fleur enjoyed seeing it all work in concert. She wondered about the little quirks on certain parts, the spikes on her left pauldrons, the sizes of the slots for flasks on her bandolier, the runes on her blades, and even her Griffin medallion (she had seen its eyes blaze a golden color occasionally).

Fleur wanted to understand the inner workings of her kit to exploit her magical knowledge and enchant the brunette’s armor further. Her reverie was interrupted because once again, her little sister was sneaky as fuck, and advanced upon her sibling gawking intensely at the witcher all over again.

When Hermione finally finished, she turned to look over at a waiting Fleur who greeted her with a smile. She had logged the moment Gabrielle had joined her sister, but as with Fleur, continued what she was doing without pausing. The younger veela looked like the cat that got the cream. Hermione was beginning to think that Gabrielle’s default expression was always going to retain a sense of her knowing something you didn’t. The witcher’s cheeks were slightly flushed, but she seemed more energized than worn out from the activity. Fleur privately thought she looked rather becoming, but absolutely refused to let it show on her face after Gabrielle had already discovered her.

“Good morning. I see you’ve been quite productive already. Were you able to sleep all right?” Hermione twirled her weapon idly while she considered her answer.

“…I did. I’m not used to such accommodations, but it was a nice change,” she admitted with a crooked grin. The Delacour sisters beamed back at her.

“Shall we head back in for breakfast?” Gabrielle asked. “I think Fleur is positively _starving_ ,” she remarked airily, with distinct innuendo, distinct for her sister anyway, who appeared to be contemplating murder. Hermione sheathed her sword and stepped between them, gesturing for Gabrielle to lead the way.

“Let’s get going if Fleur is hungry. I didn’t mean to keep her waiting all throughout my training,” Hermione said anxiously.

“I’m fine!” Fleur shouted. She changed the subject hurriedly as they began walking, and explained that she had spoken to her father before going to bed the night before. He had marked a map that Hermione could use to visit the affected the vineyards, and investigate the land.

“This should be intriguing,” the witcher remarked. “I know you’re all exceedingly serious about your wine, so I better handle this carefully.”

*********

After a hearty morning meal, once Hermione had departed with Crookshanks on a route of properties to inquire about witcher-type-problems, Fleur had promptly committed herself to procuring the alchemy supplies the brunette would require.

“Father, I have need of your alchemy equipment!” she declared, bursting into his study. He looked up from a book, blinking owlishly at his daughter.

“I’m sorry my dear, my what? I’m afraid I do not have such materials here,” he said.

“What? Why not?!”

“…Because I use one at the university?”

“But…you said you were going to build a laboratory here! Never mind, you just need to purchase one right now!”

“Is this about those infested vineyards, for Hermione?”

“Yes! ...NO! I mean, a little bit yes!” Julien valiantly smothered the laughter that arose from the sudden wild look in his daughter’s eyes.

“All right my child, I shall do to my best to obtain something workable. …Actually, I’ll probably have to go ahead requisition one of the spare sets the university possesses, in order to acquire the equipment on such short notice.”

"Merci, Papa!” Fleur cried, very much relieved.

“Of course my dear,” her father replied, smiling. “Anything for love,” he teased. He moved over from behind his desk, and gave his flustered, blushing daughter an affectionate hug.

“Now, you’ll have to help me clear out a space here. We’ve got to make it look as though it’s been here all along, hm?” Fleur blushed anew, and tucked her face bashfully into her chuckling father’s chest.

*********

Fleur led Hermione into her father’s study, where upon a sturdy wooden table an alchemy set had been placed. There was an ample supply of glassware, a magical burner Hermione assumed she could easily ignite with Igni, metal spatulas, a balance, glass pipettes, a large vat for the hazardous waste, two stools, and a quill, ink, and parchment for notes. Common ingredients had also been lined up in bottles and vials with clear labels.

“So here is the equipment you can use. Maman has enchanted the table so it is nonflammable, and also so it is resistant to acids and bases. The cabinet here contains iron rings, stands, clamps, and other apparatus for situating the flasks and beakers.”

“Fleur, this all looks brand new,” the brunette said in awe, amazed at the cleanliness and generous array of materials.

“Non, it is not,” the veela replied primly. Hermione peered at the glassware, lifting one Erlenmeyer flask, then another, and then a separatory funnel.

“But this is all pristine,” the brunette observed.

“My father simply takes care of his equipment.”

“…And some of these are still packed.”

“Well, he was just thinking of expanding his research, and anyway we also thought you might like plenty of supplies to synthesize all you needed.” Hermione blinked, and looked back at Fleur dazed, still astounded over the quality and quantity of items.

“Typically I have to make do with a mini-kit, so really, thank you very much. This is pretty much all I could ever need to complete the potions and substances I need for the contracts.” Fleur was soothed a bit once it appeared that Hermione would not push the issue on the immaculate state of the alchemical gear, then puffed up a little at the praise and gratitude. She felt as though her heart had just lurched up from her belly, tugged up into her ribcage, and then warmed by Hermione. She beamed back at the brunette.

“I am very pleased to have helped. I will go assist my mother with a few things, but we’ll be around if you happen to need anything else.”

“Of course, I will see you around then. And thanks again!” Fleur left her to it, and Hermione turned back to her new workspace with a grin.

*********

A few hours passed where she was totally absorbed in her work, when Julien entered his study bearing a tray of snacks and refreshments, and asked Hermione politely if he could keep her company. She chuckled and reminded him that the place was his own study, and that he could very well do as he pleased.

“I just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t disturb you and upset your concentration,” he clarified with a grin, eyeing the gold-colored liquid that was distilling, and the separate flasks containing oils heated under a blue flame. One appeared to be pale yellow, the other orange-amber, and he resisted the urge to flood the brunette with questions. He moved a small table close to her workspace, and placed the tray of food upon it. “Fleur sent me, concerned that the last time you had eaten something was breakfast.”

“That’s very conscientious of her,” Hermione replied with a wishful smile, recorded with interest by the veela’s father, as he selected a nearby chair and made himself comfortable. “I must thank you for allowing me to intrude and commandeer your supplies and glassware. I promise I’ll take care of all of my messes, and reimburse you for the components,” she said earnestly, looking over at him.

“Oh, it really was no trouble,” he responded with an enigmatic smile. “If you can tell me a bit about what you’ve been synthesizing, without betraying any of your witcher trade secrets of course, I’d be delighted to call it even.”

Hermione wondered if Fleur had also aimed to distract her from repaying her and her father by utilizing Julien’s intellectual curiosity. She wouldn’t be able to remain at the estate for much longer if they insisted on negating her efforts to compensate them for all of their magnanimity. She deliberately rolled her eyes at him, and he gave her a cheeky grin in return.

“Fine,” she acquiesced, half-exasperated.

*********

Fleur had seen her off at dawn, and the witcher had proceeded to spend much of her time scouring the surrounding territory of one vineyard and then the other. She’d at least accomplished one of the more irritating aspects of the investigation the day before, which was interviewing both owners and their hirelings to glean as much information as possible about their circumstances. The two vintners wanted to purchase and revitalize another vineyard that had gone bankrupt, but their own properties had suddenly undergone a series of calamities disrupting production, and were now lambasting the other party as the cause of the sabotage. Consequently, Hermione had to wade through several diatribes to accrue the intelligence she actually needed.

While the two rival estates were quarreling with one another, it seemed as though both vintners had been suffering from the same array of misfortunes, but she set out to find out for sure. As she traveled between locations, Hermione had been beckoned by several merchants asking her to deal with some giant centipedes disrupting the roads or invading the cool, dark, underground caverns where they wished to store their goods. Hermione was sure she’d never been more in demand in her life.

The opposing properties were relatively close to one another, but not especially close to the home of the Delacours, and Hermione had been working for over twenty-four hours when she finally returned to the Delacour estate, mid-morning. Fleur was waiting on one of the garden tables just near the main entryway to the manor, with a panoramic view of the roads leading onto the estate. She leapt up from her chair the minute Hermione was close enough to see her in turn.

“Hello,” Hermione began tiredly, dismounting from Crookshanks.

“You’ve been gone for ages!” Fleur exclaimed, looking over her witcher assiduously, and wanting to throw her arms around her in a relieved hug. She rapidly noticed a few tears and the smudges of armor damage from…acid? It was also obvious she’d had to have been rolling around in dirt. The brunette could see a med kit ready for use on the table where Fleur had been sitting and waiting.

“Yup, acid,” Hermione confirmed, watching Fleur inspect her. She had a few burns on her skin, since she couldn’t dodge perfectly every time, but it could have easily been worse had she not prepared. “The giant centipedes spit acid. Oh, and that one’s _acidic venom_ ,” referring to one area where Fleur was currently directing her scowl. “Because your fellow vintners were fighting over another vineyard, but weren’t authorized to purchase it until they resolved the problems occurring on their own properties. They blamed each other, but it turns out one of your former knights, a Count Vladimir Crespi, had been sabotaging them both. He managed to confuse things somewhat by having signed incriminating letters with one initial or the other, which of course lent credence to the idea that Vermentino and Coronata were ruining each other instead. But anyhow, I’d found his base of operations…Mr. Ex-Knight had decided to destroy his competition, and he didn’t he want them working together either, so he developed the brilliant idea to breed and distribute archespores to obstruct and deceive them. Yes: tall, fossorial, acid-venom spewing plant monsters that could deposit explosive pods and hide within the grapevines. …He mainly killed a bunch of people instead.” Fleur blinked at her. “Yes, the Ducal Guard has been informed.”

“…Right well, I think you need to have those burns looked at, some food, a bath, sleep… and in the meantime I can have your armor refurbished.”

“But you’re _not_ paying for it!” Hermione exclaimed adamantly, looking adorably put out rather than threatening. She tensed as if the veela were going to strip her of the damaged pieces right then and there, even with her swords still equipped. Fleur suppressed her smirk and raised her palms in a gesture of surrender.

“If I promise to let you take care of the fee, will you let me help you take the armor off?” Hermione closed her eyes, released a long-suffering sigh, and just let the blush happen.

*********

The servants had adapted to the presence of the witcher with minimal fuss, and Hermione had even helped keep the stable running smoothly, even while she was supposed to be taking it easy after her last long-winded job. The Delacours owned many horses, for all of them loved riding, and naturally the noble family kept their own carriage. So Fleur cornered her as she was brushing down Crookshanks.

“I need you to accompany me to a ball,” she declared with no preface.

“…What?”

“A _ball_. At the Beauclair palace, in two days. Maman wishes for me to attend.”

“Fleur. There are no monsters at…the _kind_ of monsters I deal with at a ball. Also, I haven’t a _clue_ how to dance. And anyway, isn’t this what knight-errants are for?”

“They are precisely why I want _you_ to accompany me!”

“…To scare them away with my incompetent dancing?”

“Oui. Non! To scare them away yes, you and terrible dancing, no. I can teach you whatever we need to make a respectable showing. I’ve seen how you fight, you can’t do what you do without at least having _some_ rhythm.”

“How very complimentary of you, Madame Delacour,” Hermione said dryly. She then sighed in resignation, taking in Fleur’s implacable mien. “But I don’t even have anything appropriate to wear!” She exclaimed in a last-ditch effort. The blonde’s expression morphed into one of fervent glee.

“Indeed, and so I will dress you.”

*********

Fleur had taken Hermione into Beauclair to meet with the family’s elven tailor. Gabrielle had tagged along, anticipating a lot of entertainment at the expense of her sister and the witcher (but mostly her sister). The older veela had selected (on top of a fitted white dress shirt) a sleeveless black leather cardigan that folded right over left, extremely angled and cut asymmetrically, extending just past her waist. A belt and three diamond shaped golden buttons kept the layers in place. Dark grey breeches, tucked into knee-high black riding boots, with a slight heel and golden trim extending along the length of her calve, and winding inwards. To finish off the outfit was a rakish half-cloak extending to just about mid thigh. The silky black garment was adorned with gold edges, draped primarily over her left shoulder stylishly, and bound to her torso with a thin cross-body strap affixed with a golden griffin pin. The design was modeled after the emblems on her medallion and swords, and its creation spurred along by a bit of magic.

Hermione had insisted on contributing to the cost of the attire since it was to be her apparel after all, while Fleur had argued that it was Hermione who was doing the veela a favor, and therefore didn’t _need_ to contribute, when Gabrielle had thankfully intervened, and bodily placed herself in between the bickering women.

“You two are terrifying Elihal. If you fools keep at it we will have to find a new couturier!” She snatched Hermione’s coin purse, grabbed an unspecified amount, thrust it at Fleur and shoved her at the poor, distressed tailor witnessing the exchange.

“Sooo,” Gabrielle sidled up to the disgruntled Hermione as Fleur finally handled the payment for the formal attire.

“You like my sister, hm?” Hermione looked at her and blinked.

“Uh, yes?”

“And now you’re escorting her to a ball! It will be _very_ romantic I'm sure,” Gabrielle said puckishly.

“More like she informed me I was. I maintain that it is a terrible decision, but your sister is…stubborn.”

“Indeed,” Gabrielle replied, mentally tallying another item on her list of "Fleur-behavior-predictions" coming true. “So tell me about yourself. Where are you from? I heard you hail from one of the Northern Kingdoms, and that your witcher fortress is located somewhere up there as well.” Hermione sighed. Fleur reunited with them, and the trio exited the boutique.

“My parents were from Kovir, and all I’ll tell you two about Kaer y Seren is that it’s in the Dragon Mountains.”

“And have you ever seen a dragon?” Gabrielle asked, as they walked through the city.

“Yeah, one bought me dinner once.”

“What.” The sisters responded simultaneously.

“Well, I was up north near Hengfors, and I was hunting another basilisk in some caverns underground. I’d left Crookshanks outside of course, and because I’d been gone for some time, the townsfolk who hired me began squabbling about whether I was dead or not, and quarreled over stealing and splitting up my possessions. The dragon could shape-shift, and was traveling with two women, tattooed Zerrikanian warriors with sabers that he claimed were his bodyguards. He came upon peasants’ argument happening on the road, and he prohibited the villagers from robbing me, when I emerged a few minutes later with the head of the basilisk. He offered me dinner in compensation for their indecorum, for it became rather obvious what he had prevented from happening.

So we went to the nearest tavern, he ordered a feast for the four of us, including copious amounts of alcohol, and we held a surprisingly philosophical conversation. By the end of the meal, he’d even arranged a room for me for the night…”

Hermione trailed off, blushing; starkly remembering that he had requested bathtubs placed and filled before they’d all trudged upstairs, each with a gorgeous Zerrikanian hanging off an arm. Unfortunately for the witcher, it was impossible to miss for the two sisters watching her as she related the story, and they had correctly assumed the implication of the salacious events that followed.

Gabrielle giggled heartily, at the expense of the other women, especially her sister, who looked a little ruffled, and pouted adorably all the way back to the estate.

*********

Located atop a hill, Beauclair Palace dominates much of the Toussaintois landscape. It had been built from the remains of an elven castle, with a Nilfgaardian architect adopting human styles into what was now known as neoelven design. A tremendously grand edifice, it seemed to possess all hallmarks of structural flair. Flying buttresses, hanging arches, tall towers, and soaring spires, all presiding over the city in mimicry of Mt. Gorgon, reflecting the surrounding mountains encapsulating the duchy. Most of its materials consisted of polished stone and white marble, frescoes had been placed liberally, and its walkways, corners, balconies, nearly everywhere were shrouded with flowers. One major bridge led from the city to the home of Toussaint’s royal family, the palace gardens extending from bridge level upwards to the castle proper, and down towards the Seidhe Llygad lake.

Hermione had managed to take in much of the exquisite architectural detail in between being pulled around by Fleur, who made her social rounds with her mother. The enormous central hall had long stained glass windows; the walls in between were draped with tapestries of heroic Toussaintois knights and various colorful sceneries. The room was brightly lit with magical candelabras, and guests mingled along the long, narrow tables dispersed mostly along the length of the walls laden with garlands, ice statuettes, flower arrangements, and piled with food. Hermione thought the ice carvings of almost-naked nymphs were a bit much; Fleur had noticed her look of half-distaste and half-puzzlement and laughed. Pageboys coasted effortlessly between clusters of people, carrying trays of wine and champagne, while soft music from stringed instruments suffused the space, though the witcher couldn’t spot any musicians. She detected conversations in Toussaintois, Nilfgaardian, and Common, which wasn’t unusual given that the duchy was technically under the jurisdiction of the Empire. Hermione felt her medallion vibrate slightly as they made a circuit around the hall, but she caught only a few intrigued glances tossed her way, and such looks could’ve very well been simply because she was accompanied by two absolutely gorgeous women.

The blonde wore a deep purple A-line gown, tastefully embroidered, with a fitted bodice that flared into lightened shades of burgundy towards the hem. The skirt swished and fluttered alluringly as the veela moved around. She’d added a modest shimmery pendant along the scoop neckline, and Gabrielle had condescended to fix her glossy hair into an intricate up do. Apolline was dressed elegantly as well, but was attired in vivid sapphire.

Hermione was formally introduced to the Duchess and her ladies-in-waiting. The ruler of Toussaint greeted Apolline warmly, Fleur affably, and then her hazel stare finally fell upon Hermione. Fleur explained in Common that the brunette had escorted her back to Beauclair, not exactly her usual type of contract, but Hermione had happened to slay some monsters along the way regardless. It was yet another instance for the witcher where an aristocrat took her measure by means of an intimidating, incisive gaze, and Hermione looked back tolerantly. The Duchess was completely drowning in gemstones. Her auburn hair was held up in part by her golden tiara, studded with several rare teal sapphires, pearls, and a few rubies. The rest draped along her shoulders in curls, framing the square neckline of her gold and white gown, which flaunted the display of her hefty necklace. Six more teal sapphires with gold bezel settings were interlaced with additional strings of pearls.

“I had heard something of the trouble several of our vineyards had been experiencing. I thank you mistress witcher, for coming to the aid of my people.”

“Think nothing of it, Your Enlightened Ladyship,” Hermione replied formally. The Duchess laughed.

“Oh please, ‘Your Grace,’ is fine,” she waved a hand dismissively. “But I am indebted to you for having also uncovered the deceitful behavior of our former Count, Vladimir Crespi. For one possessing such a renowned history as a knight of Toussaint, I am very much ashamed that he resorted to such underhanded means in order to devastate his competition, concocting intricate plans to sabotage other vintners. I will have to insist that my council calls for you when Toussaint is once again in need of someone with your expertise,” The Duchess professed, with just the slightest suggestive twinkle in her eyes as she smiled graciously at the witcher. “I hope to hear talk of you visiting the duchy quite often.” With that, she bid them a good evening, and withdrew with her party, off to meet with the rest of her guests. Hermione had offered Fleur an escort arm, and the blonde’s hand tightened its grip around her bicep, just as Her Grace seemed to convey particular interest in Hermione’s continued presence within the duchy. Apolline, perceptive as ever, had been standing next to Anna Henrietta and noticed her daughter’s little slip, but hid her smile.

“Well, that wasn’t that bad, eh, Hermione? Anarietta was rather taken with you, perhaps you may soon be our witcher-on-call,” She said to the brunette, who smiled sheepishly. The veela mother was unable to quell the urge to needle her elder daughter as least a little bit. “Wouldn’t it be nice to have Hermione in the area regularly, Fleur?” She commented directly to the younger blonde. Fleur gave a noncommittal grunt, looking pointedly back at her mother with slightly narrowed eyes.

Hermione, gaze bouncing from one woman to the other, made an offer to retrieve some hors d’oeuvres or wine, but the veela appeared to be having a silent conversation, so she stepped away to go ahead and gather both items.

When she found Fleur again, the blonde told her that Apolline had roamed off to socialize with friends from court, and that the politicking obligations had been fulfilled for the evening. They were then able to graze on the plentiful offerings of food, and partake in the copious amounts of liquor and spirits available, though not excessively. Hermione revealed that it took a lot of alcohol to get a witcher drunk, anyhow. Fleur told her a few entertaining stories about some of the individuals milling around, and once they got tired of people watching, the veela led her outside to explore outside the palace. She imparted bits of the history she knew, and pointed out some of her favorite hiding places when her mother had to bring her to work when she was a small child.

Hermione was charmed at the thought of a tiny Fleur instigating mischief amongst the highest officials of the duchy. They kept walking in comfortable silence, her smile fading when eventually they paused along a secluded balcony, decorated with roses and rhododendrons, the wall nearby at the end of the short staircase behind adorned with a beautiful fresco.

The two women were alone, beholding the impressive view afforded from this vantage point of the castle, and Hermione reflected that she had had a really lovely time. Her half-cloak flitted with the slight breeze, and she laughed at herself. She’d had the silly, outlandish thought of feeling decidedly princely, surveying her domain with the regal Fleur by her side. The evening seemed like a fitting denouement to her impromptu vacation. Meeting Fleur had been a most fortuitous event, as well as the subsequent contracts she picked up while the veela convinced her to delay a while.

However, a witcher was meant to be on the Path, and Hermione was reminded that she was only a transient visitor within all this luxury and affluence, and needed to tell Fleur she had resolved to depart Toussaint the next day, possibly the day after that at the latest.

 _The moonglade_ , she thought absently, recalling the word from a book of poetry referring to the moonlight reflected on a body of water, its beauty haunting. She tore her gaze from the lake, meeting Fleur’s eyes and realizing the veela had been watching her. She quietly divulged her plans, and Fleur hastily looked away. Hermione heard her sharp intake of breath, observed her body stiffen, but the blonde said nothing. A moment later, she turned on her heel, marching swiftly back to the noisy great hall. The brunette chased after her belatedly, startled at the abrupt movement and lack of response. Fleur traveled rather speedily in dress shoes, and Hermione did not exactly want to _sprint_ after her. She caught up once Fleur had made it to the open hall doors, and other guests were now populating the area again.

“Let’s just enjoy the rest of the banquet,” the veela said brusquely, before Hermione could ask what was wrong. She followed Fleur’s lead, waiting for any kind of sign that she was permitted to speak, or that the veela would inform her of what had upset her.

“My Lady Fleur!” The exclamation came from a young nobleman with bright, shoulder-length, copper-colored hair standing across from their position in the hall.

“Oh no, _Guillaume_ ,” the veela whispered in dismay. Hermione glanced over at her in concern, taking a step closer to the blonde, but the woman was already fixated on the presence of the knight-errant (as evidenced from his embroidered surcoat, Hermione noted), her countenance spelling out certain doom.

His boisterous shout rallied the notice of nearby guests, and generated some snickering. The tittering only amplified as he clumsily weaved a path within the crowd, stopping and redirecting himself more than once around the immobile guests, trying hastily to make his way over to Fleur with a modicum of grace and dignity. He failed. When Guillaume finally approached, he automatically took Fleur’s hand and planted a kiss. The knight straightened and said “I am ecstatic to have chanced upon your illustrious presence this fine evening.” Fleur tried to reclaim her hand without blatantly snatching it back. Guillaume continued, undeterred. “The time is approaching for the year’s grandest and most important contest; as I’m sure you know, our chivalric grand tourney! When this momentous occasion happens once again, I wish to offer you a promise! I will bring my heart’s champion the head of a monstrosity!” Fleur had been witnessing this extravagant display with increasingly visible horror.

“Excusez moi? You wish to _what_?”

“I vow to slay a monster and secure a trophy, for great love demands great sacrifices! I bid thy consent to dedicate my imminent victory to you, the fair Lady Fleur!” he proclaimed grandly. Hermione had no idea whether to burst into laughter, or sweep Fleur into her arms and whisk her away from the pretentious red-head. But they were attracting even more attention, and the brunette knew that that was the last thing Fleur wanted.

“Uh, no thank you please,” the veela finally uttered gracelessly, still processing the absurdity of this man.

“I’m afraid you are rather late with your _proclamations_ , Monsieur,” Hermione interrupted, before they were painfully subjected to another flowery speech. “The Lady Fleur has most kindly granted me her favor should I decide to compete in this year’s tourney.” Guillaume peered back at the brunette in bafflement, as if just detecting her presence. His eyes invariably traced her scars, widening slightly as he met her stare, and took in the nature of her pupils. He awkwardly looked back and forth between the women, as though Hermione had spoken another language.

“Ah, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance…”

“Hermione, a witcher,” she responded briskly, cutting him off.

“Oh yes, it’s quite true,” Apolline joined in, somehow materializing swiftly, and linking arms with her indignant daughter, who looked on the verge of hexing Guillaume well into next week. She quickly resumed speaking, “in fact, not long ago, our valiant Hermione dispatched a leshen and basilisk. And most recently, here in our very own duchy, she single-handedly eradicated the infestations of giant centipedes and archespores plaguing our neighboring vintners. They are ever so grateful,” Apolline informed him with a mocking smile. Guillaume’s asinine expression had been replaced with frightened eyes and an obvious urge to flee.

“My apologies Guillaume, but I must respectfully decline,” Fleur finally chimed in with gritted teeth, refusing to offer any other platitudes along with her rejection. The young nobleman blushed, quickly excused himself with a bow, citing the presence of his uncle nearby. He wished the ladies a good evening before he merged back into the crowd. Unfortunately, the trail of sniggering left in his wake did little to obfuscate his retreat.

“Gabrielle was correct, that _was_ entertaining,” Apolline said to herself, then turned to address her daughter and her date. “Thank you for intervening, Hermione. That ignoramus tends to ambush Fleur most inconveniently, and I’m sorry you were dragged into his nonsense. Rest assured that you are not beholden to any future tourney participation.”

"Oh, I hope I didn’t make things worse by asserting a promise Fleur didn’t actually make. He was just so _obnoxious_ ,” Hermione fretted, glancing at both veela. “Though I would be glad to compete, if Fleur’s honor is somehow called into question,” she added playfully. Apolline chuckled as she watched her daughter give the witcher her version of The Look.

“All right,” the veela matriarch cut in. “Before any other commotion arises, I give you leave to quit the feast if you wish to, Fleur,” Apolline said with a smirk. Not being privy to the non-conversation that had happened outside the hall, she continued, “Might I suggest one dance with Hermione, to formally bring the evening to an end? She did practice with you, after all.”

“Of course, maman,” Fleur said neutrally, intent on remaining composed in the face of her mother’s machinations. “One dance, and then we will see you later at home.” Without waiting for a reply, she took Hermione’s hand and pulled her over to the space where other couples had gathered. They waited a minute or so for the previous song to finish, and then Fleur pulled the brunette into position.

Hermione bowed and Fleur curtsied before the music began again. The brunette moved in a half circle before stopping behind Fleur, placing her left hand on her waist, and taking her right in a handhold. Fleur followed as Hermione began the first few steps, the dancing couples moving in sync surprisingly well. Apolline observed keenly, veiled by an assortment of nobles. She watched them watch the other, withdrawing slightly to circle their partner in tune, sweeping in close then retreating, and then repeating their movements in the opposite direction. The dancers drew nearer with each repetition, and then twirled together once more, right arm raised in a ninety-degree angle, the other stretched out along the other’s waist. They changed positions in harmony, right arms meeting instead and their forearms entwined ever so slightly. Apolline smiled to herself. She hadn’t been acquainted with Hermione for very long, but having made a career out of profiling certain persons, she trusted her intuition about this one. The veela mother sauntered away and wandered back into the crowd, letting the women have their moment.

*********

Fleur had thawed a bit during their dance, and enjoyed herself, having gauged accurately that Hermione was a quick study and would have no trouble keeping up with the music and memorizing the steps. By this time, they were fatigued by the crowd and exited the hall once more, strolling absentmindedly in the direction of the bridge where the Delacours’ footman could summon their carriage and its coachman.

“So you’re yearning to return to the Path. A witcher should not be confined, no?” Fleur began coolly, finally broaching the matter that had triggered her own flight away from the brunette. She couldn’t force Hermione to stay, nor did she want to, but Hermione seemed hell-bent on ignoring her own feelings. Hermione tried not to sigh, and was still convinced that it was time to move on. She would relish the surreal days she’d spent here, and the veela’s company in particular, but having completed the infestation contracts, she didn’t feel justified in dawdling on the estate, living off the family’s hospitality, and lingering like a puppy awaiting each reward of Fleur’s attention.

“I don’t suppose I’ll uncover many creatures lurking on your estate, Fleur. And while it was somewhat trying, it didn’t take that long to discover the deliberate causes of the archespores infestations. You Toussaintois are so competitive about your vineyards that you start wine wars,” Hermione tried to joke. Fleur looked back at her flatly, malcontent. Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly. “So yes, it’s been very nice here in the Duchy, which I didn’t think I’d ever say,” the brunette admitted with a crooked grin. “But I don’t want to overstay my welcome with your family, and simply leech off their kindness. I don’t really have any other reason loiter here, so I may as well get going and continue the job I was trained to do.”

It was Fleur who sighed instead, now outright glaring at Hermione. She strode over to the balustrade on the balcony, leaning on it, her hands clutching at the marble until her skin went white.

“Gods help me,” Fleur uttered, vaguely up in the direction of the night sky. She straightened her posture, and finally exploded. “Hermione! For someone having been trained to be an exceptional tracker, you are astoundingly oblivious! And stubborn; you are both! I have been pulling at my hair, undertaking every conceivable tactic to prolong your time here in Toussaint! My sister has been hounding me about it, my parents think I have gone insane…”

Somehow, the rest of the tirade had been automatically tuned out, and Hermione’s gaze went immeasurably soft. Fleur was breathtaking in the moonlight. Breathtaking doing nearly anything, Hermione was so enamored with this woman, she was convinced there was nothing she could do that wouldn’t turn her to mush or send her on the most god-forsaken quest just to elicit a smile. Gods forbid she start sounding like Guillaume, she thought sardonically.

“I’d hoped. So very much,” she said finally, stepping closer, when Fleur had elucidated some other failing on Hermione’s part to act, and throwing her hands up. The blonde froze at the witcher’s proximity, and because of the unadulterated _want_ she now perceived gleaming in her eyes. “But no one has ever wanted me to stay.”

Fleur leaned forward, her own eyes shimmering, raised her hands to Hermione’s cheeks, and cradled her face, leaning their foreheads together.

“Stay. Please, please stay,” she whispered. Hermione tilted her head back slightly, if only to grace Fleur with the most genuine, ecstatic smile she’d ever have cause to give anyone. Witchers were allegedly emotionless, and Hermione very clearly was not, but she wasn’t quite as unrestricted in allowing herself to bestow her affections.

She was absolutely going to savor this, sinking into the desire she can see reflected back at her in Fleur’s limpid expression. Hermione leaned back in and let their lips touch softly, tantalizingly, and then pressed more firmly. She did not yet intensify the kiss, but Fleur couldn’t contain a low, hungry noise. A little frisson of magic seemed to crackle between them. The brunette feels like every cell in her is tingling, and…Hermione deems this observation rather trite, but then remembers she lives in a world literally shaped by magic. _So I should probably do that again. For research purposes._ The scrape of her teeth on Fleur’s lip elicits a delicious little whimper, and her hands clutch at the cloak to pull Hermione closer. Her hands meanwhile, wander up and tangle through Fleur’s elaborate up do, not caring that her fingers are likely disrupting Gabrielle’s hard work.

It’s slow and sweet until it isn’t, Fleur’s lips part easily against Hermione’s, and she releases a breathy groan as the brunette tugs lightly at her shimmery strands, kissing her more deeply. Fleur’s hands drift down until she’s cupping the tight ass she’s admired so much. She squeezes at the same time her tongue sweeps slowly along Hermione’s lower lip, and the brunette moans into her mouth.

The sound of raucous laughter in their vicinity finally breaks them apart, and they are swiftly reminded of where they are. Both are flushed, lips red and swollen, and Fleur is trembling, exhaling shakily so she wraps her arms tighter around Hermione, pulling her back into an embrace. Hermione holds her steady, nuzzling Fleur’s neck and kissing it once delicately, waiting until both their racing hearts calm.

“Uh, so I feel like I should say something now, but my mind is awfully empty…” Hermione eventually tells her and trails off. Fleur lets out of those musical gales of laughter that Hermione has decided she adores, and her heart swells.

“Back to the estate, and to my bedroom, immediately,” the veela replied, making the executive decision. 

*********

Fleur had never thought she’d find a set of stairs so complicated, nor so infuriating. They were _so_ close to her personal chambers, and subsequently her bed, where she planned to throw Hermione down and divest her of the outfit she’d appreciated her in all evening.

If only. The brunette would stop. Being. So difficult. It surely wasn’t intentional, from the moment they’d revealed their feelings outside the palace, a look of awe had suffused Hermione’s gaze every time she’d looked back at the blonde. It still had not faded when Fleur had dragged her through the throng of nobles outside the palace, down along the winding staircases, when she had practically shouted at the footman to retrieve their carriage please and thank you, **yes** , _right this very moment_ **I am certain** , just return to the palace for my mother of course… and definitely not now that they were a few measly feet away from privacy.

Fleur’s kisses after they left the balcony had become frenzied and quick, just enough to satiate the veela while they dealt with the _impossibly_ long journey back to the family estate. Hermione however, had taken every kiss intently, dousing Fleur in careful, precious affection, and now Fleur absolutely wanted to scream.

…So perhaps _that_ part of her frustration was entirely her own fault.

The two had finally reached the landing on the stairs, after what felt like ages of the blonde grasping, tugging, pulling, manhandling Hermione from the palace to here…when her beloved little sister had to open her door down the hall, wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Hello ladies, did you have a nice time?”

“Oui, it was lovely, good night Gabrielle!” Fleur burst out, already fearing the direction this new interruption was going.

“And Hermione, did you enjoy your first Toussaintois ball?” The witcher, not wishing to be rude and dismissive, answered the younger veela, even as Fleur yanked at her step by step.

“The palace was magnificent, the amalgamation of the styles of elven and human architecture was fascinating to observe. The ball itself was as beautiful as it was educational, although the risqué ice sculpture centerpieces were kind of absurd. But yes, I did enjoy the event,” the brunette replied affably, while Fleur had succeeded in halfway coaxing her past her bedroom’s entryway.

“Indeed!” Gabrielle remarked, “And now you get to enjoy my sister,” she declared pointedly, and looking utterly unrepentant. Hermione promptly turned red, her body going a little slack with embarrassment, so Fleur was able to do as she’d hoped, and fling Hermione fully past the room’s threshold and onto her bed. Then she turned to her sister with determined, narrowed eyes.

“Oui, my little sister, that is _precisely_ what she will be doing, and most _thoroughly._ Now for the last time, _bonne nuit_.” Fleur shut the door firmly and locked it, Gabrielle’s giggling reverberating merrily through the hallway until she cast a quick silencing spell.

*********

Another auspicious morning, and it was the best one of Hermione’s life, as far as she was concerned. Fleur was once again snuggled up against her, but with the added bonus of being naked. The brunette tried to stifle her childish giggle and failed, her body shaking lightly. So sue her, she was just really fucking happy. Fleur stirred, and the brunette scolded herself for waking the blonde, who blinked sleepily and let out a contented sigh, stretching against Hermione’s body. After, she simply re-positioned herself, freely taking advantage of the witcher as a heat source and pillow.

“We’re spending the whole day in bed,” she announced, and Hermione raised an interested eyebrow, running her fingers through silky, silvery-blonde hair. “Breaks for food are permitted, I suppose,” Fleur continued idly. “I’m afraid I can’t unleash you into my father’s library once more until I’m absolutely satisfied. And if you find yourself doubting how I feel about you again, I’m taking out the scarves and tying you to my bed. For an exhaustive demonstration enumerating precisely why you’re wrong.” This time, Hermione didn’t bother to restrain her laughter.

“I promise I believe you,” she assured Fleur. “And…” she trailed off, looking mischievous. “That alchemy set was completely new after all, wasn’t it?” Hermione felt Fleur inhale and prepare to argue, so she kissed her breathless instead.

Just as Fleur was losing herself in Hermione once more, something fluttered along the hardwood floor of her bedroom, like a little hummingbird, deposited from some edge of her door. Hermione broke the kiss to crane her neck in that direction, and said, “looks like someone slipped you a note.”

Fleur buried her face into the brunette’s neck, muttering “Ugh, gods. Probably Gabrielle, and I’m not sure I want to know.” Regardless, she flicks her wrist and the parchment flaps over to Hermione, who snatches it out of the air and opens it.

“All right, I won’t tell you what it says then.”

Only a few moments later however, Fleur feels the woman beneath her quivering with laughter again. Fleur lets out a resigned sigh, and muttered, “What has she done now?”

“Well, she has offered her congratulations officially, since our run-in last night was rather abrupt. She has decided to preemptively do us a favor, in order for us to truly savor this time alone together…and uh, as such, has fashioned a sort of sign for your bedroom door. It states “Do Not Disturb: this Room for Thirsty Veela Emissaries and Brunette Witchers Going At It,” Hermione managed to describe, in between laughter. Fleur raised her head, looking indignant and glowering.

“How can you find this amusing? If I decide to finally murder her, you are assisting me.”

“Well she _is_ helping, in a way,” the witcher said diplomatically. “You issued a decree not too long ago, did you not? Something about how I am forbidden from leaving this room until I have made up for lost time?” Hermione flipped them over and began trailing kisses along Fleur’s neck, unable to resist leaving a slight mark, and then moving onto her sternum. Fleur merely grumbles, but doesn’t stop her. Hermione persists in her task, kissing down the valley between Fleur’s breasts, then licking at a pert nipple and then sucking it gently. She can tell the blonde’s heartbeat has begun to speed up, and one of Fleur’s hands comes to rest on her head.

“I mean we _could_ pause for breakfast…” Hermione continues, and nips lightly with her teeth at the other straining nipple, then soothing it with her tongue. The blonde releases the tiniest of whimpers, and Hermione smiles. She drifts down along the smooth, velvety expanse of Fleur’s stomach, nibbling at the sensitive skin below her bellybutton, making her lover squirm slightly.

“We could give her a stern talking-to if it bothers you that much,” the brunette suggests lazily, now kissing the inside of the veela’s thighs, which have spread obligingly for Hermione to situate herself comfortably. She boldly licks a hot stripe up the length of Fleur’s core, and the veela gasps sharply.

“So what’s your call darling, I haven’t heard an answer…” Hermione asked wickedly.

Fleur peels her eyes open, and literally growls down at the grinning witcher. Her eyes are blown but her gaze is steady, and with both hands threaded within chocolate curls, she shoves Hermione’s head back down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I mean, Gabrielle’s cheeky little sign was super accurate after all…  
> Continues on right from the end of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short addendum I said I'd add eventually.

Hermione sat up on her knees, surveying her handiwork. Fleur’s upper body has fallen back against the bed, silvery blonde hair splayed along the pillows, chest heaving but starting to slow. The brunette’s mouth opens slightly as her eyes meet Fleur’s, licking her lips in satisfaction, her thumb running along her wet chin, an expression of a job well done evident on her face.

The witcher pondered her next move. She had been so careful with Fleur over the course of the last night, holding her like the most precious thing she’d scarcely believed wanted her back. The blonde had of course, by now, vehemently proclaimed she liked her, and desired her, so perhaps she’d be a little bold. And well, Fleur found it so easy to tease her, and reveled in flustering her. The brunette’s eyes smoldered while she deliberated, tracing a scorching path along all the lovely skin on display.

Fleur abruptly experienced a small sense of what the monsters the witcher stalked felt when they were cornered. She was systematically assessing her prey, eyes promising that she would wring every ounce of pleasure from her. Her nerves felt lit, suddenly flayed, as if jolted with a current of magic. What was happening here? Hadn’t her heart just managed to calm? She could’ve claimed that mere moments ago she’d experienced a most enjoyable orgasm, but was now willing to swear up and down the courts of Beauclair that it would be deeply irresponsible of Hermione to deprive her of her touch a moment longer.

“Take what you want, Hermione,” she urged.

The witcher pulled a stray scarf of Fleur’s to her, looking from the silky wisp of fabric to the veela, a question in her gaze. “Over your eyes?”

“Yes.”

The brunette reaches over, and reverently traces the lines and curves of Fleur’s face. Her fingers trail along Fleur’s nose, her cupid’s bow, her jaw line, and then finally, she arranges the scarf over her eyes, loosely fastening it in place.

“These will stay here,” Hermione orders primly, placing Fleur’s wrists up by her pillow. “But stop me at any time.”

The blonde nods, and exhales shakily with anticipation. "I will."

Hermione re-situates herself between her lover’s legs, but Fleur can only sense her body heat, and craves the touch of skin on skin. “You were beautiful at the ball. And gods, you’re so beautiful _now_ ,” Hermione murmured in her ear, her body hovering oh-so-close over Fleur’s. “I thought I’d have just one night to pretend,” she continued, deigning to roll her hips against the blonde’s and pulling back. Fleur whimpers quietly, and Hermione shushes her by leaning down to kiss her deeply and languidly.

Fleur’s mouth is hot and open and Hermione suppresses a shudder, reaching up to cup her jaw once more. Time dissipates into some abstruse notion for Fleur as she basks in her witcher. Hermione feels as though she cannot kiss Fleur passionately enough, licking into her mouth and making her moan, the veela’s body pitching upward, ravenous and needy against Hermione.

The brunette eventually eases her touches, slows her movements. She brushes her lips over Fleur’s with delicate kisses, so soft they leave the veela tingling. Everything tingles, and Fleur trembles and inhales erratically. She wraps her arms around Hermione’s waist to pull her closer, but the brunette takes them away gently and places Fleur’s hands back by her head.

“I said, keep them there,” Hermione instructs once more, mouth against her ear lobe. She nips at it with teeth to emphasize her point, and kisses the blonde’s pulse point, then down her neck, where she marks the veela blatantly.

Fleur feels like her body is on the verge of turning utterly feral with want, aching for Hermione to cover her, surround her, press her into the mattress and ruin her.

“I couldn’t let myself believe that you existed _and_ you wanted me to stay. Well, you’ve done it now. You’re mine,” the witcher tells her, voice low and husky.

“Oui-yes…yours,” Fleur stuttered, as Hermione’s fingers slipped inside her, finally. She nudged her hand with her thigh, using a bit of her body weight. She continued to explore, tracing tantalizing little patterns, cataloguing all of the veela's responses. The brunette loves the little whimpers and noises Fleur lets loose, so affected, hushed, but desperate.

“I’m already addicted to touching you like this. You feel so good,” Hermione whispers in her ear.

“Yes,” Fleur groans. “Only you - ” she trailed off, her body arching, seeking more contact. Hermione’s fingers thrust harder, but maintained a meticulous pace, the heel of her hand brushing Fleur’s clit with every stroke. Fleur sobs out her name, hands clutching the sheets by her head.

It wasn’t a speedy, headlong rush off the edge; instead, Hermione was dismantling her methodically. Fleur had not wanted the brunette to hold back, thought perhaps it would be fast and rough, but the witcher takes her time, refusing to rush.

“You’re amazing,” she says, and again, “you feel amazing,” breathed against the skin beneath her lips. Fleur was perfect, velvety slickness, which only increased as Hermione pressed down lightly. “So soft,” her words punctuated by a single, strong thrust that stalled Fleur’s body and cut off a cry. “Still so many things I want to do to you,” the witcher mumbled, biting lightly at a breast. The veela felt the fingers in between her legs coiling against a spot that was so delightfully sensitive, her hips bucked helplessly.

“But first,” the brunette nearly growled, “I want to see you come. _Now_ ,” Hermione demanded, uncovering the veela’s eyes with a flick of magic. The building, roiling wave finally subsumed Fleur, and she was hit with a piercing maelstrom of pleasure. A strangled shout, and the veela shattered, clenching onto Hermione, she descended into irrepressible spasms that wracked her whole body and suffused her senses.

She was vaguely cognizant of the warm, comfortable weight of a bare body against her own, and she brushed aside Hermione’s command, grasping at muscular shoulders, worried that if she didn’t, she would simply float away. Hermione held her carefully as the aftershocks subsided, pulling her hand away gently. Hands began tugging once again at the brunette’s hair, Fleur coaxing her head closer so she can kiss her sweetly, adoringly. Sleepy and sated, the blonde pulls back and gazes at Hermione with such affection, eyes drooping drowsily; ready to drift off back to sleep in her arms.

Just before she does, the witcher asks slyly, “so are you feeling better about your little sister’s antics?”

“Hmh?”

Hermione just grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Mih as usual! ^_^
> 
> Thank you for reading, would love to hear from you all if you enjoyed :)  
> Will be posting new AU multichapter soon, and also look out for Fleurmione Week 2021 from March 15 onward, a lot of excellent writers will be contributing.  
> https://fleurmioneweek.tumblr.com/post/640603483691679744/fleurmione-week-20211

**Author's Note:**

> I have pilfered a quote from 30 Rock because I still love that show.  
> Witchers technically don't blush, but it was too amusing to not allow Hermione to be affected. 
> 
> I will probably? add a bonus chapter with a sexy times scene and possibly some other story extras with more shenanigans. 
> 
> I began another AU where Harry and Ron were witchers and Hermione was the group's sorceress, saving them from mediocre potion skills along with many other things.  
> I may just begin a series of semi-related stories varying certain Witcher universe elements with F/Hr
> 
> If you got this far, thanks very much for reading :)


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